Little Pieces
by Aeryn Phoenix
Summary: Lady Hawke/Fenris one-shots. Smut, angst, drama, stupidity, and whatever else the muse spews out.
1. Little Pieces

**A/N:** This is completely Fenris' fault. Damned addictive lyrium elf, don't you know I'm too old to fangirl over you? I have a shameful number of plot bunnies assaulting me, so this one-shot might turn into a dumping ground for all Fenris one-shots. Probably all of them will be Act 3 or later, like this one.

**Description:** Hawke is fascinated by Fenris' feet. Fenris gets a little jealous.

**Warning:** Sexual content.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

* * *

**Little Pieces**

She was obsessed with his feet.

Hawke tilted and twisted his appendage in all directions as Fenris watched her from his end of the bathing pool. She frowned at the blacked soles, then poked at the hard surface with her fingertip. Fenris stifled his amusement with an impatient sigh.

"You really can't feel that?" Hawke's curious eyes met his even as she prodded his foot a few more times. "Not even a little?"

"I can feel the pressure of your touch," he explained as he let his head fall back against the water-warmed stone, "but it's not a…sensation. I'd hardly be much use to you if my feet were sensitive, would I?"

The woman scoffed, "Or you could just wear shoes." She threaded two of her fingers between his toes where she knew his skin was tender, and Fenris grunted and twitched at the contact. "Oh-ho," she taunted, "not so tough after all, hmm?"

The elf scowled at her, but the playful splash of water he sent into her face made her laugh and squeeze his foot. Fenris fondly recalled the first time they had had this conversation, or one very like it, when she had first "discovered" his feet. She had been appalled by how filthy they were, and refused to believe Fenris' claims that they were not so much dirty as stained.

Hawke had used an entire cake of soap and worn holes in two washrags in her vain attempt to scrub away the black from the bottoms of his feet. He had not told her, but it felt _fantastic_. Fenris had even dozed off during the process, and woke only when Hawke unleashed a string of charming Ferelden curses in her frustration. The elf had chuckled at her, pressed her against the stone lip of the basin, and shown her that there were other, more pleasant ways to enjoy the soap-slicked water.

Amused by the memory, Fenris murmured, "I'm beginning to worry that you have an unhealthy affection for my feet, Hawke. Would you like some private time alone with them?"

Hawke tilted her head thoughtfully and ran one finger down the tops of each one of his toes slowly, methodically. "No, that won't be necessary," she replied with a coy half-smile. "Do you know why?"

"Why you're in love with my feet?" Fenris let a laugh rumble up in his chest as the human slid up his body to straddle his lap, sending small waves of bathwater rocking out of the basin and onto the floor. His hands found their favorite place on the small of her back, seemingly of their own accord. "I cannot begin to imagine."

The woman above him wore a soft expression that she rarely showed him, and never showed anyone else. It still made him a little nervous, this _thing_ between them, but he mostly felt honored by her trust. Oddly enough, she had told him she felt the same way, and somehow their awkward, fragile relationship had survived. Fenris mused that perhaps Sebastian was not so far off in his estimation of the Maker's wonders.

Hawke's dripping fingers left the water and delved slowly into the sodden mass of his hair, her short nails scraping softly at his scalp. Fenris' eyes drifted shut and he let her know his enjoyment with a soft growl. His hands tightened against her back as he felt her breath caress his cheek.

"I love your hair," she whispered.

Her questing fingers drifted from his white mane to the pointed tips of his ears. His whole body tensed as she teased and traced the shell, gently exploring the entire length down to the base of his jaw. Pushing herself up on her knees, she pressed her lips against his ear.

"I love your ears."

Fenris opened his eyes to admire the lovely sight of her breasts hovering in front of his face. The elf's hands slipped off her back to caress her bottom, his fingers digging deep into her firm flesh as a rising wave of desire built in him. This was a new thing for them, this slow build up of passion, and he was not entirely sure how to respond to anything that was not rough and hard and loud. Remaining still seemed to be the best answer to her game at the moment, though he was hard pressed to find the discipline for it.

Hawke's lips left his ear and trailed across his cheek, leaving soft, barely-there kisses in their wake. She gently closed his reluctant eyelids with her thumbs, chuckling breathlessly at his gaze fixated on her chest, and pressed a kiss to each one. She then cupped his jaw in both hands and tilted his head back, encouraging him to stare into her gently smiling face.

"I love your eyes."

Her gaze and her fingers drifted to his lips, and Fenris found himself fascinated by the intense, focused expression she wore as she traced his bottom lip. His mouth opened readily under her explorations, and he could not stop himself from capturing one of her fingers with his teeth, teasing the pad with the tip of his tongue and gently sucking at the digit. Hawke's breath hitched in her throat and he felt her thighs tighten around his hips.

"I, ah…I love your mouth."

Her lips were on his hard then, her fingers reluctantly giving way to teeth and tongues. She moaned and gasped as he bit at her lips, her eager nipples teasing against his chest along the water's edge. Fenris' hands were latched onto the inner back of her thighs then, his fingers tantalizingly close to exactly where he wanted to bury himself, but he somehow restrained his touch. This was her game, and he wanted to see where she would take it.

Hawke pushed away from him, breaking the kiss abruptly and leaving them both panting and unsatisfied. She drew in a steadying breath to calm herself, her hands stroking gently down his shoulders, tracing the lyrium swirls branded into his skin. Her fingers curved, blunted nails digging into his flesh and leaving faint red trails in their wake, and Fenris arched into her with a groan. She drew in a sharp breath at the friction between them, her own back bowed in pleasure.

"I love your strength."

She folded herself against him then, her arms firm and demanding around him, pulling him upright to press her chest to his. Her legs coiled around his waist, holding him prisoner in her embrace. He could feel her core, so much hotter than the cooling water, nudging and teasing his aching erection. One of his hands stayed latched to her rear, but the other plunged into her hair, fisting and tightening as her lips found his throat. Her tongue followed the upward flow of one lyrium line to the tip of his chin, her breathing ragged as their fevered gazes met.

"I love the lyrium in your skin. Because it brought you to me."

Hawke's voice trembled not just with passion and desire, but with affection and raw emotion, and Fenris struggled to breathe under the intensity of the moment. He had no idea what he had done to deserve this amazing, infuriating, unfathomable creature bound up in his life, but Maker take him, he would give anything, _everything_ for her, for one more moment with her. She accepted him as he was. She always would. She was his world, his life, his _home_, but he had no words to tell her that.

The game was forgotten, any semblance of discipline dashed aside as Fenris seized her hips and thrust himself up against her, claiming her roughly, painfully. Hawke clutched at him and cried out, but not in protest, her head thrown back as he filled her. His teeth found her shoulder, marking her even as she left her own burning bites on his neck and jaw. The water churned and sloshed, the woman shuddered and trembled, and Fenris did not even have time to regret how quickly the end was coming before she cried out his name and clenched around him.

She captured his face between her palms and pressed her forehead against his, her shining eyes burning into his. "I love you, Fenris," she gasped against his mouth.

It was his undoing, her trembling admission, and he moaned her name as his release surged violently through him. He seized her mouth desperately, crushed her against him as he rode the waves of pleasure, wanting her as close as possible. He could taste the salty tang of sweat mixed with the water on her lips, feel the vibration of her groans on his tongue as his rigid body gave a few last, lingering thrusts before his strength abandoned him.

Fenris had no idea how long they remained entwined in the cold dregs of that bath, struggling to catch their breath and slow their racing hearts. Not long enough, by his estimation. When Hawke finally stirred, curling her arms around his neck to draw him into a slow, tender kiss, Fenris found himself whispering promises against her lips in broken Tevinter, words he could never quite say directly. Hawke's smile told him that she caught his tone, even if she could not understand the words. It was enough. For now, it was enough.

"I'm a little disappointed," she admitted as they helped each other from the pool. The mischief in her eyes offset her solemn tone. "I didn't even get past your shoulders. I had such wonderful plans for your navel…"

The elf cupped her cheek in his rough palm, smoothing her hair out of her eyes as he drank in the sight of her flushed cheeks, smugly pleased to know he had put that color there. "I'll try to control myself next time, then," he murmured.

Hawke grinned and kissed his palm. "Next time?"

"Just…leave my feet out of it," Fenris added as he began to towel the moisture from her hair.

The woman's surprised laughter echoed in the small room, and Fenris bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile. "I will not be satisfied with anything less than all of you, I'm afraid," she declared. "Every little piece. Even your toes."

Her words made him feel warm, seeming somehow deeper even than her declaration of love. "Fine," he relented, though he doubted she really believed his reluctant act. "As long as I'm permitted to return the favor."

Hawke's eyebrows shot up and she blinked slowly at him, gauging his sincerity. "I…suppose I could be convinced," she admitted with a look of growing anticipation. "I look forward to it, Fenris."

Fenris flashed her a feral smile, his expression promising both danger and pleasure. "As do I, Hawke."


	2. Promise

**A/N:** Thank you very much for the reviews. It's reassuring to know I'm not the only nut who can't get enough Fenris. :) This one is nothing like the last one-shot. You might suffocate on the angst. Time frame is the later half of Act 2.

**Description:** Fenris realizes he's very good at breaking things. But Hawke already knows that.

**Warning:** Angst and angst. And angst.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

**

* * *

Promise**

Fenris had never been so angry before in all his life. It boiled within him, dark and constant and _mocking him_ because for the first time this anger, this _fury_ could be directed at no one but himself.

He prowled the floor of his makeshift bedroom in sharp, broken steps, fists clenching and unclenching, unable to stand still for a moment, forced to replay the memory over and over again. He was cruel to himself, raging within the confines of his own mind that he could have so easily chosen differently, been stronger, done _anything_ else.

Anything but side with a demon against the one person who had earned his loyalty.

But he had. He had done the one thing he was certain he never would, the one thing he never felt he had to be vigilant against because he knew the danger as surely as sticking his bare hand into a boiling pot. He could still feel the wicked creature's tendrils in his mind, seductive whispers of power and vengeance, a craving he knew he would never forget as long as he lived. The worst of it was that a part of him still wished the demon had succeeded, that he could now have the power to do everything it had shown him, even at the cost of Hawke's life. The chance to face Danarius and his kind without fear…how could he pass up such an opportunity?

Snarling, Fenris smashed his fist into the wall, drawing comfort from the familiarity of pain as the plaster crumbled. He would not make excuses for himself, not in this, _never_ in this. It did not matter how righteous his intentions, letting himself be drawn in by the temptations of a demon was unforgivable. Not when he could so starkly recall the startled betrayal in Hawke's eyes when she realized what was about to happen, the disbelief in her voice when she stumbled away from his raised blade.

She would never forgive him, he told himself, and she was wise for that. The way she looked at him after she returned from the Fade, all cold detachment and broken trust, and him foolish enough to recite some excuse, some worthless bid for an understanding he did not deserve. Hawke had only nodded, her face expressionless, and turned away from him. She had not spoken to him or come to see him in the three days since. He wondered if that would end up being his last memory of her.

And then he tilted his head and saw her, watching him from the doorway. Her voice echoed dully in the dark mansion, breaking his tormented reverie as if his very thoughts had conjured her up.

"Well," she observed dryly, resting her shoulder against the doorframe and crossing her ankles, "at least now I know where all the holes in the walls come from."

There was no humor in her flat tone, not a sign of the teasing note he had come to expect from her over the years. Its absence made it even harder for him to straighten up and face her. She had not come alone, he realized. Her mabari prowled the hallway outside the door, his clawed feet clicking against the dirty marble floors. How miserably sad that she felt it necessary to bring the animal for protection. Hawke was the one person who had seen him at his most vulnerable, and Fenris had shattered their frail bond, not once but twice, each betrayal worse than the last.

"I didn't plan to come here," Hawke began after a moment of silent regard. "I figured you could do a far better job of tearing yourself to bits over this than I ever could. But," her disinterested mask slipped and he spotted the regret in her eyes just before she bowed her head to stare at her feet, "it was wrong of me to treat you this way. I was…selfish to wait so long."

Fenris blinked in numb surprise. "Are you…apologizing to _me_?" he demanded with a fierce shake of his head. "Hawke, no. I…"

"Just," she held up her hand and sliced the air in a sharp, commanding gesture, "shut up. Please. This is hard enough."

The elf clenched his jaw and did as she asked, donning his own mask to keep his torment at bay while she pierced him with those wounded eyes.

"It was the bloody dog who brought me here, you know," she began with a nervous, humorless laugh, her feet carrying her restlessly across the room as if she were physically searching for her next words. "Pathetic that the hound knows me better than I know myself."

Fenris glanced to where the mabari now sat watching them with keen eyes just outside the entrance of the room, then returned his focus to Hawke. "Perhaps not," he offered after a moment of watching her stare out the window. "He has known you a long time."

A wan smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, but her eyes remained on the moonlit street below. "True," she admitted. "And he's never steered me wrong before."

Another silence fell, this one long and awkward. Fenris could see the conflict written across Hawke's face, but he could not begin to imagine she had come here to say anything he had not already told himself a dozen times over. Her next words would prove once again that she was anything but what he expected.

"I understand why you did it," she told him softly, but with a conviction he had come to trust. The woman turned to fix him with a determined frown. "I do, Fenris. More than you can possibly know. So if you're waiting for me to forgive you, I'm afraid that won't happen. Because there's nothing to forgive."

Fenris scowled and shook his head again, his feet itching to return to pacing and his mouth already open to snarl a retort, but Hawke kept right on talking.

"It's over. It happened. Move on. There's one thing I want out of this mess, though," she told him as she took a few slow strides toward him. "I don't expect you to change your perception of things because of one incident, no matter how…dramatic. But if I ask one thing of you, will you promise to at least think about it? To just consider it?"

She was standing right in front of him now, her wide, sincere eyes holding his gaze. With the exception of brief moments on various battlefields, he had not been this close to her since that single night they had shared together. For a moment he imagined he could almost smell the soap she used on her hair. The guilt in him _ached_ at the memory, and heard himself growl, "Why would you believe any promise of mine, Hawke?"

Her expression did not waver, but she nodded slowly. "I'll take that as a yes." He saw her hand move out of the corner of his eye and for a moment he feared she would touch him, but he stiffened and her hand dropped back to her side.

"Don't be so quick to give up on mages, Fenris," she murmured, and for a moment he spotted tears in her eyes until she blinked them away. "Because this mage didn't give up on you. And never will. No matter how many times you walk away. Even if that does make me a fool."

She turned quickly on her heel, and suddenly he _could_ smell her soap, the scent he had buried his face in as she writhed and panted beneath him, her nails in his back and her lips against his cheek. He closed his eyes, holding on to the memory as if he would drown without it, but when he looked up again, Hawke was gone, her boots echoing faintly in the empty hall below before fading completely.

As the elf stared down at the soft band of deep red cloth wrapped around his wrist, he realized his anger and guilt had receded, crawling back to their cages in his mind until they were next needed. All he felt now was…alone. Sighing, he sank down on the cold hearth and let his head hang limply against his chest. He could not decide which was worse – the fury or the emptiness.

But he would think on what Hawke had said. It was the least he could do. How ironic it would be if it was the one promise he managed to keep.


	3. Sudden Moves

**A/N: **Wow, you all are too kind. Thank you for reading and for the reviews. I'm glad others are enjoying these. :) This one took on a life of its own, so if it rambles, it rambles. I was disappointed by an obvious setup that was completely ignored during a certain part of Fenris' Act 3 friendmance (the scene was different in the rivalmance, iirc). The following is my rebellion against this oversight. And a big thank you to Lywinis for mentioning a workaround for the update issue the site has been having lately! "All you have to do to fix it is go to your story update page, and when the error comes up, change the word '**property**' to '**content**'." Awesome.

**Description:** Aveline proposes a simple solution to a complicated problem. Hawke and Fenris are not convinced. Or are they?

**Warning:** A little silliness, a little angst, and a little nekkidness. Because you should be warned about all those things, clearly.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

**

* * *

Sudden Moves**

Fenris had grown accustomed to Aveline's visits over the years. She only showed up at the mansion for one purpose, and predictability was something the elf found comfort in, even if the degree of forcefulness or civility found in these interludes varied greatly from month to month. The former had far outweighed the latter recently, and this visit promised to be no different.

"I've run out of ways to hide you, Fenris," the imposing Guard-Captain explained with equal parts frustration and concern in her voice as she paced the breadth of the room. The elf surveyed her agitation with a bemused lift of his eyebrows. He slowly brought his wineglass to his lips and lounged back in his chair. "You simply cannot stay here any longer."

"You've said that before, Aveline," he reminded her calmly. "Many times, in fact."

"This is serious!" she snapped, tossing her arms in the air in exasperation. "The mansion has been sold, and the Knight-Commander herself has ordered it cleared out within the week. I cannot fight this!"

"Then don't," the elf told her with a shrug, but his thoughts were interrupted when Hawke chose that moment to swagger into the room unannounced. They exchanged a long, private look that made Aveline sigh and shift her weight.

"I've never asked for your protection," Fenris continued in half-truth as Hawke perched on the corner of his dilapidated desk. "Let them come."

"Right, and that's not at all threatening," Aveline huffed. "Talk some sense into him, Hawke."

Hawke shrugged as the larger woman crossed her arms over her armored chest. "You could always take a room at the Hanged Man," the Champion suggested to Fenris. "Not very private, though. And it'll get expensive."

"I lose far too much coin there already," he agreed. "Thanks to Varric."

"Man's a terrible influence," Hawke nodded with a sidelong grin.

"Like so many others." Fenris found himself smirking back at her and immediately set his wineglass aside. It was never wise to drink too much around Hawke. Maker only knew what she would have him doing. Or saying.

"You know," Aveline interrupted with a calculating note in her voice that brought cautious frowns to both Fenris and Hawke's faces, "there is a simple solution to this mess…"

"Bribery?" Hawke guessed.

"Kill the buyers?" muttered Fenris, prompting an amused snort from his lover.

Aveline pointed at Hawke. "No, and," she scowled at Fenris, "don't make me arrest you. Hawke, you have a very large mansion of your own. Lots of empty rooms. Lots of space."

Fenris and Hawke shared a startled look at the obvious implication. "No," they both answered with equal conviction.

"And why not?" Aveline asked, returning to her pacing, though now her expression was decisive, bordering on inspired. "It would get Fenris out of this dump, keep the Knight-Commander off my back, prevent a pointless confrontation, and ensure the safety of the both of you. No bribes or butchery required." She stopped and gave the couple one of her stern, matronly stares. "You may not be able to express it like normal people, but your feelings for each other are no big secret. There isn't a single reason for you to refuse."

"I happen to like my empty space," Hawke grumbled with a glare.

"As do I," Fenris was quick to agree. Whatever their differences, when it came down to basics, he and Hawke were very similar creatures indeed. He liked where things were between them, saw no reason to change them, and Hawke had never said anything to make him believe she felt any differently.

"By the Void, you don't have to sit and stare at each other all day," Aveline scolded. "You'd probably see as much of each other living together as you do now. Maybe even less."

"With no option of reprieve," the elf snorted scornfully, fully expecting Hawke to voice her agreement, but the woman remained oddly silent. When he leaned forward to look at her, he discovered the Champion was staring off thoughtfully at the far wall.

"She has a point," Hawke conceded after a pause. She turned to look appraisingly at Fenris, who frowned fiercely and drained his wineglass in one draught. Apparently sobriety was the opposite of what he would need tonight. "Would it really change anything?"

"You have to ask?" he shot back, though his feelings were closer to dismay than irritation.

Aveline cleared her throat to get their attention, and though she tried to hide it, there was a triumphant gleam in her eyes. "I'll just leave you two to work out the details," she said smugly. "Three days, Hawke. Four at most."

"Understood," Hawke murmured as the Guard-Captain strode purposefully from the room. Only the popping fire dared make a sound until the telltale clank of the front door closing echoed in the entryway below.

Hawke twisted around to sit cross-legged on the desk facing the scowling elf. Fenris stubbornly refused to break the silence first, and instead poured himself another glass of wine. Hawke snatched the bottle from his hand before he could set it down and took a deep pull that made her cringe and cough.

"She does have a point," Hawke croaked, stealing another messy sip of wine before Fenris pried the bottle away from her and hid it behind his seat.

"So you've said," he growled. He drained half of his glass and stared at her through narrowed eyes.

Hawke tilted her head, eyes hooded in shadow, making it difficult for him to read her mood. "You don't agree?"

"I never said that," the elf argued.

The woman looked down at her lap quietly for a moment, lost in thought. "It could solve a lot of old problems," she offered softly after a time.

"Perhaps," Fenris shrugged, fighting back the urge to sigh.

"And cause a lot of new ones," she chuckled, turning her wine-warmed face to gaze at him fondly.

He leaned forward, drawn to the woman despite the discomfort this conversation was bringing him. "Absolutely," he murmured, watching her expression closely as she reached out and gave a lock of his hair a firm tug. The urge to ravage her inviting mouth was painful to ignore, especially since he knew it would effectively put an end to this topic for the moment.

"How about this," she said in that decisive way of hers that he had come to both appreciate and detest. "Think about it tonight. See if any better options come to mind. We'll talk in the morning?"

Fenris scowled and started to argue, but then she was kissing him, deep and insistent and tasting of wine, her hands twisting and tightening in his hair. Before he could do a thing about it, Hawke was off the desk and striding out the door.

"Good night, Fenris," she called from the stairs. And then she was gone.

The elf hissed a string of bitter curses into the empty room and drained the dredges of his cup before hurling it at the fireplace. Amid the satisfying chime of shattering glass, Fenris retrieved the wine bottle and shoved out of his seat, measuring the room in long, restless strides.

He thought she understood. He thought she was like him, that she would always take his side in this even if they disagreed on so many other things. How could she not see what this rundown wreck of a building meant to him? She had to know it had nothing to do with status or pride or some misguided sense of "home."

Fenris had _taken it_, through his own means and strength, and deprived Danarius of this place even if it had never truly belonged to the magister to begin with. It was one less advantage in that bastard's hand. This mansion was Fenris' personal insult to Danarius and all of his ilk, proof that their power was finite and breakable. _That_ was why it mattered, that was why he could not simply hand it over and move on.

The elf paused his prowling to glare at the merrily crackling flames in the fireplace. It sounded pointless, now that he thought about it, a worthless symbol sitting in the dark. Danarius was dead. Hadriana was dead. Varania was dead. Everyone who knew him as a slave was either gone or too far removed to matter. Whose eye was he spitting in at this point exactly?

But there was more to it than that, he told himself as his pacing resumed. He could not simply _move in_ with Hawke, no matter how simple Aveline might wish it to sound. Thoughts of "too fast" and "too much" haunted his mind, just as they had years ago when he abandoned Hawke because of his own cowardice. He could not risk losing himself to that fear again, not now that he truly understood the agony it would bring them both and how easily it could have been avoided. He had meant it when he said he could not imagine living without her, and he knew, even if she did not, that the biggest threat to their relationship was Fenris himself.

In rare moments of uncertainty, he wished he could be someone else for her. Some nights he would lay awake after an evening spent at her mansion, the scent of her sweat still hot on his skin, and wonder why he had not slept in her arms. When the sex or pillow talk had run dry and sleep began to pull at them both, he would always reach for his clothes. Hawke would smile or kiss him or whisper something lewd that would have him crawling back between her sheets for something decidedly not like sleep, but she never commented or complained when he eventually departed for his own bed. What had changed that she would now ask this of him?

Fenris realized the fire had burned down to embers while he worried and brooded, and that the bottle in his hand was dry. It was very late and he was exhausted, but he would find no rest this night, not without talking to Hawke first. He had to understand what was going through her head, make her understand why this was impossible. Damn Aveline for starting this mess.

He expected to find Hawke asleep, or perhaps staring into her fireplace as she so often did when her mind was too full of strategies and battle plans to find the Fade. The last thing he could have anticipated was discovering Hawke and Orana hauling a heavy straw mattress up the main stairs. He stood confused in the shadows of the entryway door for a moment, wondering if he had dozed off at his home and perhaps this was all a dream, before the elven servant noticed him and dropped the mattress with a startled squeak.

Hawke cursed and stumbled back to one side to escape the free falling weight, which jostled and flopped its merry way down to land with a dusty thump at the base of the stairs. An awkward silence followed, broken only when Fenris stepped cautiously across the room and Orana began babbling a hurried apology.

Shushing her elven companion, Hawke shoved a few sweaty locks of hair out of her eyes and looked Fenris over nervously. "You're…not supposed to be here," she informed him with a sheepish shrug. "Don't suppose you'll just pretend you didn't see this?"

"Hawke," he started, too confused to really know where to begin, "what…?"

"Andraste's blood," she sighed, her guilty expression slowly giving way to irritation. "This isn't how I wanted to do this, but I should've known you'd make it hard on me. Just…come to my room. Please. And I'll explain."

Fenris did as she asked after a brief hesitation, trying his best not to guess at what this mad scene meant. He carefully navigated his way around the abandoned mattress and followed the two women to Hawke's bedroom, where he found himself unable to do much more than stare in surprise.

The northern side of the room had been cleared, her desk moved to the wall beside the fireplace. An extra bed frame, presumably from one of the small guestrooms downstairs, had been put in the desk's place, and a small table and comfortable chair had been arranged in the opposite corner with a wooden partition to separate it from the rest of the room.

"It was just an idea I was playing with," Hawke murmured. Fenris turned to find her leaning against her desk, chewing nervously at her thumbnail and seeming unable to meet his gaze. "I wasn't presuming to know your answer, and I'm not stupid enough to think I can convince you if it's not what you want. I just," she finally looked at him and shrugged, her eyes honest and vulnerable, "thought it couldn't hurt to try."

"You made me a room…inside your room," Fenris managed to say quietly, shaking his head in bafflement.

"Maybe it's silly," Hawke shrugged. "I can't stand the thought of sticking you in one of the guestrooms like some embarrassing third cousin with a drinking problem that I'm trying to hide from the neighbors, and we both know one bed isn't enough for the two of us. I know it's not a decent substitute for an entire house." She shrugged again and sighed, turning her head to stare into the fireplace. "Just tell me I'm a fool and get it over with, will you?"

Fenris had definitely had too much wine that night because he could not even remember moving, yet suddenly Hawke was in his arms, pushed fully up on the desk with her thighs tight around his hips. His lips found hers, biting and eager, and he growled when she whimpered into his mouth. Somewhere behind them, Orana made a strangled sound and retreated from the room, closing the door behind her, and Fenris hoped he would remember to apologize to the poor girl tomorrow.

"You _are_ a fool, Hawke," Fenris rumbled, sucking the delicate salty skin of her throat between his teeth while her hands sought his hair and her ankles locked around his waist. "A beautiful, infuriating fool."

"I – ah, Maker…I'd have done this months ago if I knew you'd react like _this_," she gasped, arching into the elf as she clawed at the buckles of his armor. "I had no idea – oh! – you'd be so…_eager_…"

Fenris tugged at her the bottom of her shirt, exposing the soft slope of her shoulders to his seeking lips. How could he explain to her that this had nothing to do with excitement or agreement, and everything to do with _relief_? He had not been wrong all this time. She _did_ understand, she _was_ like him, and any of the little doubts that plagued him were exactly that – _his_ doubts, not hers. He should have known better than to think she was against him in this.

Hawke pulled gently at his ears, interrupting his tongue's downward exploration of her chest and forcing him to meet her lust-dazed stare. "Is this a yes?" she breathed, her face suddenly filled with skepticism, confirming Fenris' suspicion that she had not expected him to agree to move in at all. Maybe she was not even sure if _she_ wanted him there yet. Strangely enough, that brought him even greater relief.

Softly, Fenris kissed her, a gentle, lingering pressure, and smoothed her damp hair back from her face with his palms. "This is," he answered in between brief brushes of his lips against hers, "a maybe."

"Stubborn tease," the woman chuckled against his mouth and gave his lower lip a hard bite. "Anything I can do to help you decide?"

Her smooth fingers slipped under the waist of his loosened armor, drawing out a low groaning from the elf while she traced the lines of his stomach in a painfully slow descent. "You already are," he growled, pressing himself roughly against her but momentarily releasing her only to tear his gauntlets off and toss them aside. "And you know it."

Hawke grinned as he made short work of her shirt and breast binding. "If only you'd gotten here ten minutes later," she teased, helping him hoist the top of his armor over his head. "We could have debated this on your possible future bed."

His hard, cooler flesh met her soft, warm curves in a crushing embrace of questing fingers and nipping mouths and delighted gasps. "Desk first," Fenris murmured against her ear, intrigued by the way she was somehow tugging the bottom half of his armor off with her toes, "bed later."

Hawke's laughter made him smile against her skin, and he was surprised to realize that for the first time, he was actually considering accepting her offer. Would it change anything? Would it really be so bad? At that moment, tangled with the woman he knew he would protect with the very last of his strength if need be, Fenris was beginning to think that Aveline may have been right all along. Maybe it was just that simple.


	4. Distracted

**A/N:** Because not everything Fenris has to be all angsty and srs bsns. Right? Inspired by the DA2 femHawke booty-waggle walk. Early Act 2, pre-romance.

**Description:** Fenris realizes Hawke is a girl. Or something like that.

**Warning:** Pirate booty. Just the one kind.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

**

* * *

Distracted**

The Wounded Coast was an empty, dull place most times. Fenris had been thrilled the first time he spotted the Waking Sea stretched out below him, finding an unexpected pride in the realization that he had now traveled all the way from the northern coast to the southern. But after a dozen of these excursions, the novelty of the scenery had faded.

To make matters worse, it was overcast and unbearably humid, the sky filled with thick clouds that seemed determined to do absolutely nothing but look drab and ominous and make his armor uncomfortable. Even had Fenris wished to admire the same scenery he had seen so many times, there was nothing to see but banks of gray and the occasional shrub amid the sandy pathways. With Hawke and Isabela taking point, this left him with only one place to put his eyes.

Hawke's hips swayed from side to side, her firm flesh flexing and straining against the seat of her leather armor in a hypnotic rhythm that the elf could not seem to stop admiring. How she could move like that, all lithe curves and swaying grace, was a mystery he knew he would never figure out, but he surely did not want her to stop. Isabela moved much the same way as the two women spoke in worrisome, conspiratorial tones some distance ahead of him, and together the pair were frankly rather…

"Distracting." Fenris glanced at the dwarf beside him, surprised and then admittedly bemused to discover that Varric's eyes were juggling the very same sight the elf himself had just been contemplating. Varric shot him a knowing look. "Aren't they?"

"They are indeed," Fenris agreed with a small smirk, allowing his eyes to return to the feminine curves ahead of them. He had never noticed the way Hawke's armor hugged the back of her thighs as they slid against each other with each stride. Sweat gathered on the back of Fenris' neck from the oppressive air, and he rolled his shoulders to lessen the discomfort. "A little too distracting."

Varric snorted his agreement and wiped a sleeve over his brow.

"I swear they're doing it on purpose," Anders spoke up from the other side of the dwarf. The mage was frowning rather intently at Hawke's backside, and Fenris fought down a spike of jealous loathing. Varric's leering was harmless, but the elf would never say the same of anything related to Anders.

"I mean, look at that," the healer was saying with a disbelieving but still appreciative expression. "That can't be natural."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Varric mused, "but they did insist on taking the lead."

"Hawke always leads," Fenris argued, though now that Anders had mentioned it, there had never been quite this much…_enthusiasm_ in the woman's walk before. The sight was both alluring and inviting in a way he had not considered before now. Maybe this was something only jealousy could make him see, Fenris pondered with a sharp glance in Anders' direction.

Oblivious to Fenris' hostility, the mage hummed distractedly under his breath and tugged at his heavy robes. "Bloody Void, this weather is awful. I wonder what they're talking about."

"Not shoes and hats, that's for sure," the dwarf answered. "Anytime Isabela laughs like that, you can be sure she's plotting something."

"When is she not plotting something?" Fenris asked, drawing grunts of agreement from both men.

Hawke chose that moment to bend and adjust a buckle on her boot. The sight of the subject of their conversation so proudly displayed, even in ignorance, was too much for Fenris to resist, and he doubted he was alone in his ogling. He had a sudden, inexplicable vision of Hawke bent over the edge of a table, smirking at him over her shoulder, nibbling her lower lip between her teeth. Sweat trickled down his spine, and he knew the sudden flare of heat he suffered had nothing to do with the weather.

Fenris noticed too late that Isabela had turned to check on the men, and there was a terrible, awkward moment when they all glanced at each other then tried to pretend they had been looking at something else, _anything_ else but Hawke's backside. They each ended up with their heads craned back and their eyes fixed on the dull gray clouds overhead. The pirate's cackling laughter was proof of the futility of their efforts.

Merrill and Hawke's mabari at the rear guard caught up with the men, and the petite elf tilted her head in confusion. "Oh, is something wrong?" she asked with a guileless smile, but when everyone hesitated she gave a fretful sigh. "What did I miss? I'm always missing everything."

"Don't mind them, Kitten," Isabela called to the Dalish woman. "The boys were just having a good long look at Hawke's," she smiled wickedly and purred, "assets."

Hawke startled and straightened up sharply, turning around with an expression of embarrassed indignation.

"Assets?" Merrill echoed. "Oh, you mean her new armor! I rather like it, don't you? Very soft and shiny. Not too shiny, of course, but—"

"No, Merrill," Isabela sighed. "It's what's _under_ her armor that matters to men. Her…ample…sweaty…_ass_-ets," the pirate woman stressed with a fake, two-handed grab directed at Hawke's behind.

"Isabela!" Hawke snapped with a scowl, but a faint blush tinted her cheeks.

"What?" the other woman replied with false innocence, then turned her predatory gaze on Fenris. "It wasn't me daydreaming about bending your ass over a desk and giving you a good spanking." The elf resisted the urge to sneer at the woman, though he was appalled that his thoughts would be so transparent to her.

"Oh. Oh!" Merrill squeaked, her skin flushing an impressive shade of pink. "That's…interesting. I'll just…" she gestured awkwardly back the way she had come, "be over here. Somewhere. Admiring the flowers."

Isabela snickered and grinned shamelessly at Hawke. "You even had Varric drooling a bit. Impressive work."

"There was no drooling," Varric drawled with a calm Fenris had to admire, but that only served to encourage Isabela's taunting.

"I'm telling you, Hawke, you'd best sleep with an extra dagger under your pillow. I know hungry looks, and those ones were positively _starved_."

Hawke sighed and strode away down the path, leading the way once more. "Tell me there's a way to shut you up," Fenris heard her ask Isabela with restrained amusement in her voice.

He was too far away to hear the pirate captain's reply, but their shared laughter was loud and boisterous. Fenris had not gone three steps when he caught Hawke glancing back at him over her shoulder. He thought he spotted a smirk on her lips, but she turned quickly back to the path, her hips swaying in silent invitation and leaving him to wonder if Anders had been right all along.

"They're doing it on purpose," the elf growled.


	5. The Deep Down Kind

**A/N: **You guys and gals are way too nice. I'm loving that you're loving my babblings. Otherwise they'd just sit on my desktop giving me funny looks. Trust that I appreciate the reviews even though I'm a horrible person for not responding. This is another rambling one, inspired by two things. First was how I cried like a baby when I lost Bethany in the Deep Roads, _even though I did it on purpose and knew it was coming_. And second is Fenris' posture. That might not make sense even after you've read the story, but there it is. I should mention, in case it isn't obvious, that these are random Hawkes - some are mages, some are rogues, some are warriors, some are bitchy and some are less bitchy. Proof that I've played the game way too many times.

**Description:** Fenris sees some things he's never seen before. Namely, himself.

**Warning:** Character death and weepy sad stuff.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

**

* * *

The Deep Down Kind**

Fenris was the first to notice it. Two days after Bartrand abandoned them to die in the Deep Roads, the elf had stumbled across Bethany retching oily bile in the shadows far from their makeshift camp. The human mage had given him a wild, desperate look, whispering a tearful, "Please don't tell her, Fenris," before creeping back to her bedroll.

Hawke was at the breaking point already, so focused on survival and moving forward that she hardly looked at any of them anymore, and so Fenris had heeded Bethany's plea. He knew the secret would expose itself soon enough. Despite his own aversion of mages, Fenris found himself watching out for the ailing girl, taking as much of her burdens as he could without arousing suspicion, all on the weak hope that perhaps she would survive to see the sun one last time. Each day she faded more, her skin paling until her tainted veins began to show at her throat and wrists. Her eyes sank into her skull, the sockets dark and bruised, but still she pressed on without complaint. Fenris privately admired her strength.

But on the fifth day, after he dragged himself wearily from his flimsy bedroll, Fenris took one look at the mage and realized time had run out for the girl. She barely made it to her feet before she collapsed.

"Bethany!" Hawke gasped, rushing to catch her sister before her head hit the stone. "Maker's breath…" The elder sibling looked as if she was seeing Bethany for the first time, horror and despair twisting her features as the truth finally became clear to her. "No…_no_, this can't happen. Not like this."

"Oh, Sunshine," Varric rasped, his voice laced with guilt, "not you…" The dwarf ran one gloved hand over his face and released a shuddering sigh.

Bethany clung to her sister's embrace, hands trembling as her voice rattled in her throat. "I'm sorry. I tried to keep going, I just…" A dry sob shook her frail shoulders, her hollow eyes locked on Hawke's face. "It's just like with that poor templar, Wesley. Isn't it? I'm going to…die here…in this wretched place."

"No!" Hawke gave Bethany a little shake, as if the force of her will alone could change the inevitable. "I will not lose you like this. Look how far we've come! We can still make it!"

The normally jovial, playful woman was nearly hysterical with grief, and Fenris felt guilt tighten in his gut. He should have told her sooner, given her time to accept it. Nothing would have changed, but perhaps the pain would have been easier to bear. The elf shifted his weight and stayed removed from the scene, feeling useless and much like an intruder spying on a deeply private moment in another person's life.

Bethany smiled weakly and reached up to tuck a lock of Hawke's hair behind her ear. A tear slipped from the corner of her blight-stained eyes and traced a trail through the grime on her cheek. "You always were the strong one," the younger sister whispered, a dazed delirium creeping across her disturbing visage. "I know you'll do what needs to be done. Won't you?"

Hawke swallowed a keening whine, the sort of broken, pitiful sound Fenris had only heard from caged slaves before that moment, and she gently cradled Bethany in her arms. She sighed her younger sister's name, resting her forehead against the other woman's for a moment. A sob choked her, the words catching in her throat. "You've always been a heartbreaker."

The young mage's shoulders jerked and a faint chuckle rattled from her chest. "And you, sister," she murmured with a sweet, loving smile, "always know how to make me laugh." Hawke shook her head, but Bethany touched her cheek to still her. "Promise me you'll look after Mother?" Hawke nodded, unable to speak, and Bethany forced a weaker smile. "Of course you will."

Fenris watched with genuine sympathy as the mage's face contorted in a pained grimace and her whole body seemed to curl in on itself with a wracking shiver. The pair sank fully to the uncaring stone floor, Bethany's head pillowed in Hawke's lap. The older sister released a long breath and her hand slid to the pouch she kept on her belt, withdrawing a small, leather bound object. Inside lay a tiny vial of black liquid.

Hawke stared at the poison for one indecisive moment. Varric knelt beside them, whispering helpless apologies to the both of them, but Hawke seemed unaware of the dwarf. Fenris could read the panic and denial on her face, but when Bethany groaned and clawed at the air, Hawke reacted automatically, removing the seal and dropping the liquid down her sister's throat in one swift movement.

It was a quick death, painless and simple. Silence hung like a stifling blanket in the dark, stale air of the Deep Roads. Then Hawke buried her face in her dead sister's hair and wept, her body rocking gently forward and back. The walls echoed with her choked sobs and muffled wails, sounds of despair that would haunt Fenris' dreams for many nights.

While she mourned, the elf did the only thing he could do – kept watch for darkspawn and deep stalkers and left Hawke to her grief. A moment later, Varric silently joined him.

They buried the body under loose stones in the very place Bethany had fallen. Nothing was said, but Hawke stared at the grave for a long moment, then bent to tuck something beneath one stone. Fenris tilted his head and inched closer. It was a portrait of a young woman who looked very much Bethany but was not Bethany. He had no idea what it meant, but judging by Hawke's pained expression, it clearly had some significance.

"Hawke," Varric voiced gently when the woman abruptly turned her back and strode away from her sister's grave. "Are you sure you're up for this? We don't have to push so h—"

"Just keep walking, Varric." Her voice quavered, but her strides turned longer and more determined. She sent the dwarf a pleading look. "Please."

The walked for hours in near total silence, uninterrupted by either rests or attacks. Hawke set a pace that even Fenris was hard pressed to match, a pace he knew she could not sustain for long. Her face was pale, the sorrow raw in her eyes, and her desperately sharp strides reminded Fenris more of fleeing than leading. The elf watched her carefully but gave her a wide berth, uncertain what she might need in a time like this, and positive that he would not know how to offer it to her even if he did. She wore herself out nearly to the point of collapse before she grudgingly called an end to the forced march.

"Oh, thank the Maker," Varric groaned, the dwarf red-faced and sweating from trotting to keep up with Hawke's longer legs. Despite this, Varric insisted on taking first watch, mumbling too softly for Hawke to hear that he could not close his eyes without seeing Bethany's face.

Without a word, Hawke curled up amongst her blankets and seemed to fall asleep immediately. Fenris had a more difficult time, his mind filled with random thoughts and worries that seemed to bounce and change from moment to moment. Mostly he found himself watching Hawke sleep, though he tried his best not to, but after far too long he closed his eyes. Using a skill he had not needed in years, the elf forced himself into a light sleep.

He woke hours later to the rumbling drone of Varric snoring. Hawke sat some distance away on a mound of rubble, a book open on her lap.

"I was going to wake you soon," she told him as he approached, her voice soft to avoid disturbing the dwarf. She briefly met Fenris' eyes and offered a strained smile before returning to her perusal of the pages under her fingers.

"I would have taken middle watch," the elf frowned. Dark rings circled Hawke's eyes, though he did admit she looked much improved after her brief sleep.

She shook her head and straightened up to look at him fully. "No, I didn't…I just couldn't…" The words seemed trapped in her throat, and Fenris waited patiently while she struggled. Finally she sighed and said honestly, "I owe you an apology. Varric, too."

The elf blinked in surprise and moved to lean against the wall beside her. "Whatever for?"

"I shouldn't have fallen apart like I did," she explained, her tone frustrated. "I could have walked us straight into a darkspawn horde and I'd not even have noticed. We're too close to making it back for me to do damned fool things like this."

"Hawke," Fenris interrupted, but the woman made a terse gesture to silence him.

"I'm not looking for reassurance. If anything, I'm trying to reassure _you_ that I haven't lost my head."

Fenris nodded slowly as she watched his expression. "Consider me reassured," he said, earning him a pinched smile from the woman. He gestured to the book still open on Hawke's lap, the pages filled from top to bottom with tiny, blockish writing. "What are you reading?"

"Oh, it's my journal," she patted the book fondly. "I've kept it since…well, since we left Ferelden, I suppose. The day we crawled aboard that awful ship." She looked thoughtful and distant for a moment, lost in memory, then shook her head and sighed. "Bethany used to steal it some nights to read all the 'juicy bits' – her words, not mine – and make little notes in the margins. See here?"

The woman tilted the book toward him and pointed to a few delicate scribbles. Fenris glanced at the page but looked away quickly, both irritated and embarrassed at himself for even asking about the book. Hawke caught the significance, and the elf could practically hear her piecing together what he always felt must be obvious to anyone.

"You can't read," she breathed, and Fenris' frown seemed like confirmation enough for her. "I should have…" she cut herself off sharply and said instead, "We'll have to do something about that, now won't we?"

Before he could say anything, Hawke was patting a bit of stone beside her and inviting him to please sit, and oddly enough, he felt himself obey. She turned the pages of the journal, telling him stories of her first days in Kirkwall, of working for a smuggler whose name he could not remember hearing before, of the struggle to keep Bethany out of the templars' sights.

It only took the elf a few moments to realize what she was doing. She was distracting herself, using everything from the apology onward as a way to block out what had happened and focus on something, anything else. Fenris may not have had much experience with grief of this kind, but he understood the need to forget. And if only for this moment, he would sit and listen and let her forget.

At some point, she turned to a page that did not have words on it, but images, dozens of them. Fenris reached out and held the page down before she could flip past it, enthralled by the myriad of rough sketches Hawke had drawn on the paper.

There was Hawke's mother smiling fondly into the distance, and her mabari with his tongue lolling out of the side of his massive jaws. There was a solemn Bethany beside an image of a smirking young man Fenris did not recognize, but knew must have been Carver, the younger brother Hawke had lost in the Wilds. Another image was of Aveline and Isabela clearly in an argument, and Fenris was surprised to realize he remembered that night, when the pirate had cheated at cards and Aveline had caught her. Varric had intervened and nearly been killed by _both_ women. The memory made Fenris chuckle, and beside him Hawke softly echoed the sound.

And there, on the other side of the page…

The smile faded from Fenris' face as he drank in the picture, though he did not at first recognize that it was of him. It was one of the few sketches with a background, the vague impression of the Wounded Coast etched out behind the lone figure standing on a cliff's edge. His back was straight, proud, his head held high as the wind caught his hair. The corner of his likeness' mouth was turned up in a defiant smile, an expression that brought him an unpleasant jolt of fear because a _slave_ would never dare to look that way.

Was this how she saw him?

At the edge of the image, he spotted more of Bethany's looping script and he sent Hawke a questioning glance. The woman ran her finger over the words, a bittersweet smile on her lips.

_"We let our souls show when we think no one is watching."_

Fenris stared at the picture for a moment longer, burning it into his mind, then allowed Hawke to turn the page and continue with her stories. They remained that way, perusing the pages of her life, until Varric roused himself and complained that they had let him sleep too long.

As they both prepared to break camp, Hawke thanked Fenris for suffering through her "ramblings." He assured her that it was no trouble at all, but a part of him wondered if he should be thanking her as well.

He hoped they would reach the surface soon. She may not have realized it, but Hawke had given him much to think on.


	6. Regret's Drunken Love Song

**A/N:** A lighter one again. I know everyone loves Varric, but he is one nosy bastard, lemme tell ya. Not that I don't love him. No need to sharpen the pitchforks, Varric fans... This is sometime between Act 2 and 3, in the three year downtime part, probably closer to the start of Act 3 somewhere, whatever works. I have four more of these going right now, and every time I finish one, another idea attacks, so I haven't a clue when these will dry up. They're too fun, so I'm not complaining. Thanks for reading! Your reviews are always loved.

**Description: **An elf walks into a bar...

**Warning:** Drunkenness. And Isabela.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

**

* * *

Regret's Drunken Love Song**

Fenris had very little personal experience in dealing with intoxicated women. During his time spent at the Hanged Man, he had of course seen his share of them – women hiding from their husbands or fathers, refugees drowning their sorrows, desperate wretches trading their bodies for a bed to sleep in. Even with their constant presence, the false smiles and glazed stares of these females were outside of his world, someone else's problem. He paid no more attention to them than he did to a fly buzzing around the room.

Isabela was probably the only woman he saw on a regular basis who drank frequently, and honestly Fenris could not tell the difference between Sober Isabela and Drunken Isabela. He doubted he was alone in that.

So, when he arrived at the filthy tavern for his weekly game of Diamondback with Varric and the others, to instead find Hawke surrounded by a veritable ocean of empty tankards, Fenris did not really know what to do with the situation.

In the nearly seven years he had known her, Fenris had seen the Champion drink a handful of sips of wine at best. It was not so much that she bore any resentment to drinking, but rather that she simply did not care to drink. No overblown piety like Sebastian, no nervous insecurity like Merrill, just plain and simple lack of interest. She preferred her senses sharp, her mind unmuddled even when relaxing, and it was one of the things Fenris most appreciated about her. Even if it was just another of their many differences.

It was like walking into the Fade to find her propped up between a dwarf he had never seen before and one of the regulars, the tables pushed together and benches utterly packed with patrons focused completely on a rambling Hawke. Fenris started to cross the room, but stopped short when he realized there were _tears_ on the faces of several of the scabby grown men at the table. The elf dismissed the urge to rub his eyes in disbelief. The stench of human sweat and desperation was enough to convince him that he was indeed not dreaming.

"She was jus'…jus' so _young_," Hawke slurred around a sob, waving her half-empty tankard in a wide arc that sloshed ale down her arm and across everyone at the far corner of one table. "An' that ogre, he bloody well broke 'er in half! An' I couldn't do nothin'…I-I just let it _happen_…"

"It ain't yer fault, Champion," one of the Hanged Man's well known drunks babbled, wiping snot and tears off his face and into his beard with the back of his filthy sleeve. "Ye can't save everyone, ye know. Yer only one person."

"Them's wise words, Sal," an off-duty guardswoman nodded the whole of her upper body in sage agreement, though how she managed to do that while listing out of her chair without falling on the floor, Fenris would never know.

Hawke sighed, her own unshed tears making her eyes sparkle and dance in sharp contrast to the anguish on her face. "Tell me, how come I can save everyone but th' people I love, huh? Why's it always strangers an'…an' dangerous folk an' _fools_?"

"Thank the sodding Ancestors, the bloody Maker and anyone else listening," Varric groaned as Fenris cautiously approached the dwarf where he stood separate from the mass of inebriated melancholy. "You _have_ to put a stop to this, elf."

Fenris listened for a moment as several people attempted all at once to answer Hawke's obviously rhetorical question. The woman herself seemed not to hear them, her watery gaze fixated on the swirling depths of her cup.

"What…_is_ this?" the elf finally asked, genuinely mystified and making no attempt to hide it.

"This is what happens," Isabela purred as she sauntered between them and slung one arm around Fenris' shoulders and the other atop Varric's head, "when our short friend here gets in over his head. Isn't that right, Varric?"

The dwarf batted the woman's arm away even as Fenris rolled his shoulders to free himself from her touch. "Listen, Rivaini," he retorted, "how was I supposed to know she'd get like this?" He stared at Hawke as she began rambling about the Deep Roads, and how horrible it was down there trying to find a private place to relieve herself.

"Shit," Varric groaned. "She's going to kill me tomorrow."

"Yes," Isabela agreed with a wide smile, "she is. And all because you just had to have the one story she didn't want to share."

"What story?" Fenris asked, and his eyes narrowed when Varric looked away and cleared his throat guiltily.

Isabela turned to the elf with a wicked grin. "Why _your_ story, of course. Yours and Hawke's tasty little love affair. Varric here wanted all the juice tidbits, but our dear Champion just wasn't up for the telling. So he thought he'd get a few ales in her, loosen her tongue a bit—"

"That's not entirely accurate," Varric cut in hastily, elbowing the snickering pirate back and away from Fenris.

"That's none of your business, dwarf," the elf snapped, using his ire to cover for the sudden flare of regret he suffered. Maker's blood, the story of how he had used Hawke and fled afterward was the last thing he wanted Varric to have at his disposal. His only comfort was that Hawke must feel the same way if she had refused to speak of it.

"I know, I know!" Varric raised both hands in surrender. "But I promise you, I just offered her a drink because she looked so damned sad after I'd asked! If I'd known this was going to happen, I'd have sent her home instead, believe me."

Isabela breathed a satisfied sigh and leaned her hip against the corner of an empty table, admiring Hawke's gathering with pride. Fenris had the sudden impression that this whole mess was somehow the pirate's doing, but Hawke's current babbling drew the elf's attention away from the Rivaini.

"…so many regrets," she was saying. She shook her head and cast her drunken eyes around the gathered faces, searching for understanding. "I mean, how many's one person s'posed t' have? It can't be normal t' feel like _every sodding choice_ was a mistake. Can it?"

Fenris caught her gaze at that moment, and he could tell by the way she startled that she had not realized he was there. Her expression softened then, her eyes warm with some fond emotion, and for a heartbeat, it almost looked like she was going to smile at him.

"Now, that can't be true, Champion," the bartender Corff chided as he dolled out another round of drinks. "Surely you don't regret saving all of us from the Qunari. And there must be things you're proud of besides."

Hawke had not taken her eyes off of Fenris while the man spoke, and a rueful smile tugged the corner of her mouth. "True enough," she answered with a nod. She gazed at Fenris with a quiet thoughtfulness. "There are some things I don't regret. Not for a moment."

Fenris felt his stomach tighten and his skin heat under her stare, but the moment was lost when Hawke looked away and crowed, "Keep 'em comin', my good man! Drink're on me!"

Amid the celebratory roar of the crowd, Varric shouted, "You _have_ to get her out of here, elf! She's making a fool of herself and tossing coin in the gutter all at once!"

"Oh, right," Isabela scoffed, "and that's why you want her out of here, hmm? No other reason but to protect her image?"

"That's exactly what I'm trying to do!" the dwarf insisted. "She is systematically pissing away everything she's worked for these last few years!"

"Hah!" Isabela threw her head back in amusement and positively cackled, drawing the momentary attention of at least a half-dozen of Hawke's followers. The pirate leaned down low, her ample cleavage directly in Varric's line of sight, and jabbed her finger into the dwarf's chest. "You mean she's pissing away the image _you_ made of her. Admit it! You're only bothered because she's telling the _real_ stories instead of your ridiculous yarns. Can't have them seeing her as flawed and human instead of your perfect hero with heaving bosoms and flowing locks."

Varric smacked Isabela's hand away and scowled at the woman, but Fenris was not blind to the guilt in the dwarf's eyes. "That is completely beside the point!" the merchant prince pressed. Turning from the chuckling woman with a disgusted grunt, Varric refocused his efforts on the elf.

"You know she'll regret this in the morning," he pointed out. "The longer she's here, the more she'll say, and the more she says, the worse it'll be."

Fenris hated that the dwarf was right, mostly because he would have found great satisfaction in seeing a number of Varric's tales torn to bits by their subject herself. "I'll take her home," the elf grudgingly agreed. "But you owe me for this, dwarf."

"Understood," Varric consented immediately.

Isabela surprised them both by pushing away from the table and saying, "I'll give you a hand." She cocked her head at Fenris' skeptical stare. "What? You think I'd miss the one chance I'm likely to get to talk the two of you into a drunken threesome? Not a chance."

Ignoring her, the elf picked his way through the crowd toward Hawke. It took nearly twenty minutes to extract the drunken woman from her place of glory amongst the patrons. Between the aggressive pleas of those gathered and Hawke's own lack of cooperation, Fenris was only surprised that a full brawl did not break out in the process. By the time they made it outside with Hawke's mostly useless form strung between them, the elf was sporting a bruised rib and throbbing knuckles, and Isabela was missing an earring and wearing an ale down the front of her shirt.

"Oh, that was _fun_," the wasted woman slurred, staggering and stumbling as her two companions attempted to steer her toward Hightown in the darkness of night. She smelled like the backside of a brewery and her skin was slick with sweat where Fenris' palm touched her back. "We should do that again!"

"Not even if you paid me," Isabela told her, though her smirk said otherwise.

Hawke giggled, and the strangeness of the sound coming from Hawke nearly caused Fenris to drop the woman as they negotiated the stairs out of the silent Lowtown markets. "But I _am_ paying you," she whispered loudly, then dissolved into laughter again.

"Not nearly enough," the other woman laughed with a mischievous wink at the confused elf.

Isabela ducked out from under Hawke's arm and sent the Champion sagging toward the dirty flagstones, nearly dragging Fenris with her. Despite the elf's best efforts, Hawke let go of him and flopped herself out on her back in the middle of the street, her shoulders shaking with amusement. A wide grin split her face as she stared up at the stars overhead.

"Do you think it worked?" she asked the grinning pirate captain.

"Oh, like a charm," Isabela assured her. "You're a worse drunk than I thought possible. No way Varric will pester you about it again."

"Good," Hawke sighed, still smiling, "because I feel like _shit_."

"You certainly will in the morning," the Rivaini agreed, then waved affably at Fenris. "Make sure she gets home. I have a score to settle with the bastard who ruined my shirt."

"Don't get arrested again!" Hawke called, her voice echoing far too loudly in the sleeping streets just outside of Hightown. She sighed contentedly and stared up at the stars again.

"Hawke." Fenris stood over her and offered her his hand, bemusement written across his face. "Your bed would probably be more comfortable."

"I sure hope so." The woman grinned openly and flailed for his offered assistance several times before she actually managed to catch his waiting fingers.

Fenris regretted for the second time that night that he had not worn his gauntlets. The touch of her skin against his was something he had avoided for years. It was…intimate…undeserved. But when she grunted and staggered, he was there to catch her, pulling her snuggly against his side to fully support her weight.

"Sorry about dragging you into this," Hawke mumbled after they had made some semblance of progress toward her home. "Varric's too damned persistent for his own good. Needed to shut him up."

"It's no trouble," he murmured, aware of how close his lips were to her ear. Beneath the stench of the tavern, he could just pick up a hint of the maddening scent of the soap she used in her hair. "I had no idea he was digging for personal information."

Hawke grunted, struggling to keep her feet moving forward. "He means well enough, but he doesn't seem to understand that sod off means sod off. I wouldn't mind so much if – oh." She blinked in surprise at her family crest on the wall. "We're here."

Fenris chuckled at her and reached to knock on the door, but Hawke stopped him. He looked down at her, but the woman was staring at their conjoined hands with a focused frown. His heart thumped in his chest, the bittersweet moment twisting his emotions into a roiling mess inside him. Hawke's fingers were warm and strong, her thumb idly tracing one of the lyrium lines across his palm. She blew out a long breath, sending stray strands of hair dancing out of her eyes, then finally rolled her head back to look up at him.

"I meant it, you know," she told him softly, her eyes searching his and shining in the starlight. "I don't regret it. Maker, I hope you don't either."

He should have stopped her, _knew_ he should have moved away, but when she twined her fingers in the hairs on the back of his neck and pulled him down to her, he felt helpless to resist. Her lips were warm and inviting against his, gentle at first, then insistent. It was far from the prettiest of kisses – she was very drunk and her tongue tasted of old ale – but the memories it brought back shot a spike of longing straight through the elf, feelings and desires he had thought were buried deep enough to be forgotten.

It lasted only a moment before Hawke pulled reluctantly away from him. She offered him a small, sheepish smile as he traced the slope of her cheek with the tips of his fingers.

"I regret many things, Hawke," he heard himself whisper. "But I don't regret this."

Fenris knew he had to put distance between himself and this woman right away, or he risked doing something incredibly stupid and illegal to her right there up against the wall for any passing guardsman to see. He pounded on the door, praying Bodahn would hear, and left Hawke standing in the entryway with a smug grin on her face.

It was only later that night as he stared at the ceiling over his own bed that Fenris wondered if Hawke would even remember any of this the next day. If she did not, he vowed to himself that he would find a way to be worthy of reminding her.


	7. Storm

**A/N:** Emotional overload. I haz it. This one drained me a bit, so maybe some frivolous smut is in order for the near future. You know, to recharge the ol' battery. *wink wink* Beginning of Act 3 sometime. As always, you folks are awesome.

**Description:** Fenris is caught up in a storm of his own making.

**Warning:** Angst and drama llamas.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

* * *

**Storm**

Fenris had never been fond of thunderstorms. Too often they heralded terrible or life-altering events in his life, and every time one struck the city of Kirkwall, he would lay awake all night, listening for trouble amid the booming thunder and pattering rain.

This night was no different. Stretched across a worn rug tossed haphazardly in front of the fireplace, the elf basked in the warmth and tried to focus on the book open before him. Hawke had mercilessly drilled the letters and words into his head in a way that often bred resentment between them because of how closely it reminded him of his days as a slave. But once the gates of knowledge had been opened, once Fenris had realized just how much he was gaining by learning to read and write, and how much it meant to Hawke that he have this invaluable skill, the negative feelings had faded. Especially after she brought him the book by Shartan and asked him to read it to her.

And he had read it to her. Every night for weeks they spent a few hours sitting in front of this very same fire, sipping wine and discussing the words of the long dead elven slave. Those nights spent with Hawke were simpler times, better times, before it all went wrong.

Thunder erupted overhead, rattling the windows in their frames. The elf sighed and set the book aside to stretch out on his back. His armor rested nearby, freshly cleaned and polished. It felt strange and unnerving to relax in only a pair of loose leggings, but Fenris forced himself to attempt this small measure of normalcy. Only slaves were on constant alert. Free men could afford to rest.

Fenris jerked half upright when he heard the creak of the front door hinges, but he allowed himself to relax again when he recognized the sound of Hawke's inane habit of knocking the mud from her boots on the stoop. The elf had mocked her for it once, amused that she would feel it necessary to avoid further sullying this filthy pit he called home, but she had only shrugged and blamed it on habit.

She was soaked to the bone when she appeared in the doorway of his room, the hood of her cloak thrown back and her hair plastered against her face and neck. Rain water dripped off of her clothes to form small puddles around the motionless Champion's feet. Fenris sat up slowly, suddenly wary at the wild, hunted look in Hawke's eyes, but the woman made no move and did not speak.

After a long, expectant pause, Fenris watched as Hawke's eyes drifted from his face to take in the lines of his bare torso. He felt vulnerable and exposed under her gaze, even as a hidden part of him craved her stares, and it took all of his self-control to keep from reaching for a shirt or even his armor. She would see it as an insult, a clear sign of distrust.

Fixing her gaze on his face again, Hawke abruptly demanded, "Is it helping you?" Her tone was low and measured, something he had come to recognize as a signal that her temper simmered just below the surface.

The elf shook his head, genuinely confused. "What are you talking about, Hawke?"

Her mouth tightened at the corners, and suddenly she was stomping across the room toward the windows, dropping her sodden cloak to the floor behind her as she went. As she paced by him, Fenris rose to his feet, unable to ignore his warning instincts any longer.

"I'm talking about you bedding Isabela," the Champion growled while her back was to him, though she glanced over her shoulder to see his reaction.

"Don't bother," she sneered when Fenris schooled his expression to blank neutrality. "The only secrets she keeps are her own." Hawke stared out the window at the storm and crossed her arms over her chest, her entire posture screaming hostility, defiance and hurt. A flash of lightning blazed in her eyes.

Fenris paced to the desk, then back to the fireplace, anger and guilt boiling inside him though he tried to suppress them both. "What do you want me to say, Hawke?" he demanded as he raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. "Why did you come here?"

They had worked so hard to avoid each other. It had been difficult at first – old habits die hard, as they say. They would run into each other in the street, at the Hanged Man, in the market, moments dominated by strained civility and a pervasive air of broken longing. But as the months passed, as they each learned the movements of the other, it became a simple thing to never see the woman for weeks on end. Even when they did meet, the strain was faded and casual. He had almost convinced himself that he was comfortable with her.

"I don't know," Hawke admitted, and she startled away from the window when a sharp gust outside blew a torrent of rain against the glass. "I just…" She took a deep breath and faced the restless elf, and Fenris noticed that her fingernails were digging into her own arms, puckering the wet material of her shirt.

"Is it bringing your memories back?" she asked, almost like a plea, and she seemed angered by her own weakness. "That is why you left, isn't it? Because you said it was too much?"

"And you think I would turn to Isabela for something I could have gotten from you," Fenris snarled, fists clenched at his sides as he prowled the room. "You really think so little of me?"

"I don't know what to think anymore!" she snapped, starting toward him with determined steps.

"Why do you even care, Hawke?" the elf cut her off with a violent gesture. "You have your apostate. Is that not enough for you?"

She flinched and took a step back, her initial surprised reply lost in an ominous rumble of thunder. Judging by her expression, Fenris wagered that was probably for the best.

"You _left_," she was saying, her sadness swallowed by anger again. "What was I to do, stop feeling? Should I spend my life pining for someone who…who runs away?"

Fenris' shoulders were so tense that they ached. "Clearly you thought it best to jump straight into the arms of an abomination."

"Damn it, you stubborn fool!" she cried, lunging toward him as if she wanted to strangle him. "Anders sleeps on a couch in the library! He has for years!"

The elf snarled in her face, refusing to back away even when she jabbed her fingers against his bare chest. "I see the way he looks at you. Those are not the eyes of a _house guest_, Hawke!"

The woman wilted at these words, her indignation melting away and leaving behind broken, empty eyes staring up at him. "He knows I don't love him," she murmured, her cold fingers now resting against Fenris' bare chest. He was torn between the disgusted urge to pull away and an errant spike of desire to tear off her rain soaked clothes to warm her skin the only way he knew how. Instead, he stood perfectly still and tried to smother his emotions. All of them.

"He knows I can't give him what's not mine to give," she continued shakily as the storm raged on outside. "We have…been together. But it's not…" She shook her head. "It's _pity_. It's just…"

"Sex," Fenris supplied flatly.

Hawke's eyes searched his face, but he could not read her expression to understand if she found what she sought. He could feel her trembling, though he did not know if it was from the cold or from emotions. "Fenris," she sighed, her eyes squeezed shut as if that would block out the pain, "how did we end up like this?"

Because of him. He knew it all too well and did not need to hear it said aloud. It was too late now, too broken and ragged at the edges to be repaired. She had to know that. After all this time, after all they had done to hurt one another, surely she understood the futility of hope.

She pulled away, eyes downcast, and fumbled to fetch her cloak before heading for the door. Fenris clenched his fists and tried to stop himself, but her name came unbidden to his lips.

"Hawke." She stopped in the doorway, turning only her head to meet his eyes. He studied her silhouette for a moment before drawing in a long breath. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

The woman was still for an uncomfortably long time before she nodded slowly. "So am I."

He stood motionless in the middle of the room as her footsteps faded on the stairs. She had not been gone ten minutes before Fenris had donned his armor and ducked out into the streets, a cloak pulled tightly around him to block out the driving rain. Isabela was in her same spot at the bar of the Hanged Man, just as he expected.

"Well, it's about time," the pirate drawled with a half-smile. "Nice to know she put my 'accidental' admission to good use after all."

Fenris brushed the rain off his face and shook his head at the dark-skinned beauty. "Why did you do it?" he asked in voice that carried hints of both anger and hurt.

Isabela cocked her head to one side and tilted her barstool back on two legs to eye him. "Perhaps I just got tired of hearing you cry out her name," she suggested with a raised eyebrow.

Scowling, Fenris started to say, "I've never…" but the look on the woman's face made him wonder if he had indeed called Hawke's name in the heat of the moment and never realized it. A flush of shame crawled up his spine, a worthless apology already forming on his lips, but Isabela was quick to wave him off with an impatient sigh.

"You're both stubborn fools, if you ask me," she informed him with an amused rumble around the lip of her pint. "There's far too many strings attached to the pair of you, and I'll be damned if I find myself tangled up in them."

Fenris sighed and slumped against the bar, accepting the whiskey Corff offered in his direction. "What a mess," he grumbled under his breath.

"Well, it doesn't have to be," Isabela scolded with an incredulous snort. "I can't tell who's worse – you or Hawke. It's like you both get off on misery."

Fenris grunted and drained his drink, idly wishing Aveline was around to offer a much needed, "Shut up, whore," but he settled for ordering another drink instead. The door of the tavern banged open a few moments later, bringing with it a gust of icy wind and a soaking wet Anders.

The apostate glowered when he spotted Fenris, but headed straight for the stairs, two heavy bags slung over his shoulder. The elf exchanged a curious look with Isabela, who had already risen from her stool, and the pair shadowed the mage to Varric's room.

The dwarf looked up from the letter he was writing with some measure of surprise at the sudden crowd in his room. Anders dropped his belongings unceremoniously to the floor and shifted awkwardly for a moment.

"Would it be all right if I hole up here until the storm passes?" the mage finally asked with an uncomfortable frown. "I have other places I can stay, it's just…"

"Sure, Blondie," Varric gently interrupted, curiosity now edging out the surprise on his face. "But, what…"

The dwarf looked from Anders to Fenris to Isabela, then back again, nodding slowly as he came to some conclusion or another. "Ah," he said, pushing out of his chair and offering the apostate a sympathetic smile. "She kicked you out."

"In a manner of speaking," Anders shrugged, and Fenris could see the mage was struggling to smother his feelings and seem casual. "It's not as though I didn't see it coming. Just, well, not in the middle of the night. In a thunderstorm."

"Make yourself at home," Varric assured him. "We'll figure it out in the morning."

"Hmm," Isabela purred with a long, suggestive look at the rain-drenched apostate, "my room is just down the hall, Anders. Should you…_need_ anything."

Anders glared at her, but turned his ire instead on Fenris. "You know," he spat at the elf, "I always knew you were an ass, but I didn't think you were a fool. If she looked at me the way she looks at you, it'd take an army of templars to keep me from her."

Fenris wanted to lash out in return, to snarl and sneer and tell the abomination to mind his own damned business, but all he managed was a tired sigh. "It's not that simple."

"And why not?" Varric demanded wryly, just as Isabela and Anders both scoffed, "It should be."

"It's too late," the elf answered, bristling a little at being outnumbered. "She deserves better."

Anders snorted and turned his back on Fenris. "If that's all you can say," he sneered, "then maybe you're right."

Fenris could take no more of the accusing stares and frustrated head shakes, so he turned on his heel and all but fled the Hanged Man. The dark storm outside embraced him, wrapping him in sheets of cold rain and drowning out his slapping footfalls with disquieted rumblings. Too many thoughts and feelings fought for control of him, and he instead focused on sensations – the freezing stones beneath his bare feet, the bright, blinding dance of lightning across the bottoms of the clouds, the stinging drive of the droplets against his upturned face.

It did not matter where he was going, where he would end up. He just had to move, had to keep going, just as he always had, hunted even by his own emotions. No matter how he tried, thoughts of Hawke kept rising in his mind, memories of her snarling in vicious battle, smiling over him, laughing at Varric's stories, arguing bitterly with Sebastian, reading passages from a book in the firelight – and her voice filled his ears as if she were standing right beside him.

He should have known. He should have expected where his thoughts would lead his traitorous feet, but he was still startled when he looked up and realized he was standing at Hawke's door. And there she was, her body poised in the entrance, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and honest, expectation and fear bright in their depths.

Fenris stood up straighter and drew in a deep breath. Maker, he hoped he would not disappoint her this time.


	8. Serving

**A/N:** Out of control long one incoming. Smut abounds. This one really ran away with me. Haven't said it in a while, so I believe a "damn you, Fenris, for doing this to me" is in order. Late Act 3. I am blown away by the response I've gotten to these stories. Thank you all sincerely for your kind words, and I think it's great that you like them at least as much as I do. :) I have two more of these in progress, so at least two more to go.

**Description:** Fenris puts his hands to good use.

**Warning:** Nudity, sensuality and SEX. Seriously. Smutty smut smut ahoy. If it ain't your thing, turn ye back lest ye be lost in yon smutstorm.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

* * *

**Serving**

Fenris paced the length of Hawke's bedroom. The soft rustle of his bare feet against the rug was interrupted only by the occasional soft pop of a log in the fireplace. The elf paused to spare an irritated glance out the window at the setting sun before falling back into stride.

He hated waiting for Hawke. Lately it felt like he did more and more of it as she was drawn deeper into something loathsome and foreign to him. Politics. He knew she enjoyed this new diversion of hers, and he could not begrudge her this because she was damned good at it, but he was never going to be happy having his time with her monopolized by bickering nobles.

The elf peered briefly around a vanity screen in the corner and was relieved to see that the water in the tub was still steaming. After all that had happened today, Hawke would need the comfort of a hot bath. If only she was home to make use of it.

Fenris ran his restless fingers through his hair and sighed, struggling to think about anything but the battle earlier that day. He had never before been so terrified for her life in all their time together, watching her blood _pour_ from the gaps in her armor, and it was only Anders' presence that had ensured her survival. Fenris was so relieved to see her eyes open, hear the rush of air into her lungs, that he had actually thanked the apostate mage. And he meant it, without a hint of spite or mockery.

Despite her injuries and Fenris' insistence, Hawke had been determined to make her report to the Knight-Commander, promising her lover that she would not be long and he should go home to rest. But his feet had not carried him to his own mansion. He wanted to be here when she returned, to see her before he slipped off to the Fade, to reassure himself that she was hale and whole and not broken on the stones of that city street. And that was when the idea struck him.

The idea that now had him pacing his nervous energy out all over her rug.

The door creaked and Fenris spun around to watch Hawke drag herself into the room. Her head was bowed, her shoulders slumped under the weight of her heavy armor, and it was not until she had shut the door that she noticed his presence with a gasp. Her surprise gave way to a spark of curiosity, even amongst the weariness creasing her brow, when she realized that Fenris wore nothing but his smallclothes.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the elf held up his hand to silence her. He crossed the room toward her, his steps slow because he knew she enjoyed admiring him like this, even if it did make the nervous coil in his gut tighten all the more. He stopped an arm's length away from her, privately amused by the intrigued smirk playing at the corner of her mouth.

"I have only one rule," he informed her with quiet command, his voice strange to his own ears. He sounded so much like someone he had once known, someone cruel and cold, but he would not permit himself to cling to the hurts of his past and shoved the memory away.

"You must do everything I ask of you. Without question or comment." He circled the woman on patient feet, dragging the moment out under her increasingly intense stare. "If you do not obey, I will leave." The elf lowered his voice to a rumbling purr. "But if you agree, I assure you, Hawke, you will not regret a moment of it."

He stopped in front of her again and tilted his head in silent question. The worn, ragged look in her eyes was still very much present, but the woman was fully alert now and clearly interested. She eyed him from head to foot in slow appraisal, and he could almost hear her asking herself if there was any sort of downside to such an agreement. After a short pause, she nodded her mute consent.

Fenris held back a smile. Good. She was paying attention.

Hiding his feelings under a calm mask, Fenris began to help the Champion remove her armor piece by piece. The metal was stained with filth and blood, each portion in desperate need of a cleaning that would have to wait until tomorrow. Hawke seemed amused by his assistance, but her lingering smile dropped when the elf pulled her breastplate free, a pained groan rasping in her throat as she ground her teeth.

The padding beneath was barely holding together, the material pierced and tattered by a dozen small stab wounds, each surrounded by a halo of crusted blood. Fenris felt his lip curl in rage, wishing he could kill the bastards who did this to her all over again, but he smothered that urge and kept at his work. The smell of sweat and grime and old wounds assailed the elf's nose as he peeled away the padding, but he was deeply relieved to find Hawke's flesh marked with only one impressive bruise across her ribs and a handful of pinkish scars.

Once he had her down to her smalls, Fenris nodded to the screen in the corner. "Bathe," he directed her.

Hawke frowned at him, her expression clearly indicating that this was something he would be assisting her with if she had anything to say about it, but the former slave only crossed his arms over his bare chest and raised an eyebrow. The woman sighed and rolled her eyes, but obediently headed for the tub.

Fenris waited until he heard Hawke groan and sigh amid the gentle sloshing of water before crossing the room to fetch a towel. Once he had hung it over the edge of the screen for Hawke, the elf moved to the bed where he busied himself lighting a few candles. The pillows he tossed on the floor before turning down the coverlet. He did his best to be patient, but each time he heard the woman stop moving, he would offer a sharp, "Hurry yourself, Hawke."

At one point, she grumbled, "It would go faster if you were in here helping me."

It was a tempting offer, more than he was willing to let on, but it was not part of his plan. Not tonight, anyway. "Doubtful," he replied coolly. "And you agreed to be silent."

The Champion growled something about "arrogant bastard elf" but fell silent aside from the now purposely noisy splashing of the bath water.

Moments later, the woman appeared around the edge of the screen as she toweled the moisture from her hair, wearing nothing but a few stray droplets of water. Fenris made no attempt to hide his wandering gaze, reveling in the freedom to study her at his leisure.

She had a warrior's body, much like his own, hard ropes of scarred muscle coiled around a long, lean frame. The flare of her hips and the gentle curve of her breasts, so often lashed down with cloth and encased in metal, summoned a jolt of lust, but Fenris buried his desires. Even so, Hawke watched him with an expression that made it clear she knew his thoughts and did not mind them one bit.

"I want you on the bed," he instructed her like a military leader dolling out orders. "On your stomach. Hands at your sides. You are not permitted to move unless I say otherwise."

Hawke's eyes narrowed as he spoke, her hands growing still in her hair. She straightened up slowly and hooked her towel over the screen as she eyed the elf warily. For a moment, Fenris was certain that she, the constant, unquestionable leader, would rebel against him in this, if only by reflex. He was both surprised and relieved when she only nodded once and did exactly as he asked.

It still amazed him at times to rediscover just how much trust she had in him.

Once she was settled, her face angled to watch him, Fenris retrieved a vial of oil from its hiding place in a drawer beside the bed and poured a measure into the cup of one palm. A curious frown formed on Hawke's face, one that very nearly had the elf smirking, but he kept his thoughts hidden as he slid onto the bed and straddled Hawke's backside with his knees.

The woman stiffened and pushed up on her hands with a startled sound. "Fenris, you don't have to—"

The elf leaned forward as far as he could without spilling the oil, his lips very near her ear as he cut her off. "_Down_, Hawke," he rumbled, feeling her shiver beneath him. His thighs brushed the smooth curve of her hips, their heat distracting and alluring. "Now."

Hawke huffed out an unsteady breath and wavered for a moment, but did as he asked. So much about this scenario dredged up painful memories for the elf, and he knew Hawke had picked up on that. But he no longer had to live in the past or let the darkness control him. She had taught him that, and he _wanted_ to do this, for her and for himself, to prove it to both of them.

Fenris took his time warming the oil between his palms and watching the way Hawke twitched every time a drop slipped between his fingers onto her back. The scent of almond filled the room, sweet and calming, a smell Fenris had chosen for the sole reason that it brought him no foul memories.

This was a skill Hadriana had forced him to learn, something she had kept from Danarius, something she would demand from the elf when she wanted revenge against the magister and could not have it no other way. But this woman beneath him was nothing like that dead harpy, and the passion and affection she evoked in him eclipsed even the fierce loathing he had felt for his master's apprentice.

The first touch of his slick fingers against Hawke's back made her already tight muscles bunch and flex against his palms, but that changed when he applied pressure. She sighed as his thumbs rolled up from her tailbone along the sides of her spine, and from his limited view of her profile, Fenris could see her lips part and her eyes flicker closed. He focused his efforts on her shoulders and neck first, twisting her breathy sounds into low groans of appreciation.

Those noises were doing a number on his restraint.

Fenris traced the puckered ridge of a scar on her left shoulder blade with two oiled fingers. "Where did you get this one?" he asked softly as he dug into a knot just under the scar.

Hawke opened her mouth to reply, but all that came out was a drawn out, incoherent whine. Eventually she managed an unsteady, "Thought…I wasn't allowed to…talk," with a whispered, "Maker's _breath_," added to the end.

Smirking, Fenris leaned over her, his bare skin nearly touching her oiled back as he nuzzled his mouth against her ear. "You have my permission to answer," he purred, delighted by the gooseflesh that pebbled her skin beneath his fingers. He sat up again, more to reign in his own sudden _want_ for the glistening woman than for her sake, and shifted to her other shoulder blade.

"It's from Ostagar," Hawke breathed between more murmurs of contentment. "Armor was damaged, bloody hurlock got a lucky hit. The retreat was…chaos. Carver shoved some elfroot in it, said it would prevent infection. Hurt so bad, gave the bastard a black eye."

Fenris chuckled at the image, turning his attention to Hawke's lower back. She hissed and flinched when he pressed the bruise on her side, and the elf whispered an apology, stroking the damage as gently as he could with his callused fingertips. Hawke sighed a pleased hum and arched into his touch.

"What about these?" Fenris asked, placing his fingers over three faint, round marks widely spaced across her ribs.

"Childhood accident," she mumbled tiredly. "Fell out of the hayloft onto a pitchfork."

Fenris cringed at the thought, but her next words made him go very still. "Would have died if not for Father. He healed me. I'd never seen him so scared. He always seemed so…unshakable. But not then. Only time I saw him cry."

After what he had experienced earlier in the day, watching Hawke's life slip away, Fenris could understand the feeling perfectly. "He sounds like a good man," the elf said carefully, unsure if she would believe him or if he even fully believed himself capable of saying such things about an apostate. "I wish I had known him."

Hawke's arms at her sides stiffened, and her fingers curled into fists for a moment. Her voice was choked, but he heard her say, "I wish that, too."

Stroking a gentle pattern across Hawke's skin, Fenris slipped off of her backside to sit between her feet. With as much attention as he had given her back, the elf dedicated himself to rubbing the tension from her taut bottom and thighs, smoothing away the renewed tension until Hawke was loose and pliant in his hands. Her breathy sounds had started up again, driving the elf half-mad now that he had an incredible view to admire as well.

He discovered what appeared to be a burn scar near her hip. "This one?" he inquired.

Hawke snorted a lazy laugh into the bed. "Bethany's first fireball," she chuckled. "She was trying to light a candle. Lit my skirt up like a torch. She never fully recovered from the fear, I think."

Fenris nodded thoughtfully at that revealing bit of information, but at that moment his fingers traced the back of Hawke's knees, drawing a startled yelp from the woman as she jerked away from his touch. At first, he wondered if he had hurt her, but he quickly realized the opposite was true. She was ticklish there.

Amused by this discovery, he tried to repeat the action, but the woman squirmed and gasped, surging forward so that her pelvis lifted up off the bed several inches with her spine bowed into the mattress. The view this offered Fenris sent a wild jolt of lust straight through him, so sharp and unexpected that his hands were sliding up to the juncture of her thighs before he even realized he had moved. It took every shred of his self-control to stop himself from spreading her legs further to explore the depths of sex, but he managed to command his hands to slide away to the outside of her legs instead.

"Andraste's ass, you _tease_," Hawke practically snarled, and Fenris had to laugh, feeling his need retreat just a little as the tension broke.

"I'm not finished," he chided her softly, then turned himself away from the temptation of her oiled bottom to face her feet. "No more talk."

One at a time, he bent her knees to bring each foot against his chest where he worked them hard with his thumbs. Hawke groaned his name, and plenty of other nonsense, and Fenris found it curious that the back of her knees would be so ticklish, but her feet apparently were not. His touched gradually gentled as her sounds faded off. He had almost convinced himself she was asleep when her gravely voice reached his ears.

"What about the front of me, hmm?" she slurred.

Smirking, Fenris stood at the foot of the bed to admire his handiwork. Hawke looked fit to melt into a relaxed puddle at any moment, her eyes too lazy to open even when he moved to sit beside her shoulder. "I think the front of you can wait until tomorrow," he answered, tucking a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear.

Hawke whimpered her disagreement into the sheets and wiggled in what Fenris realized belatedly was her attempt to roll over. "But," she complained, finally managing to flop onto her side and open one eye to pout at him, "I have a _lot _of tension here."

Fenris gave her an indulgent look and shook his head, forcing his eyes to stay on her face and not drift to her charmingly displayed breasts. "You're getting oil all over the sheets," he pointed out. "And you're doing a very poor job of obeying orders."

She chuckled, a throaty rumble that seemed to push aside some of her drowsiness. "If you want me to comply," she murmured, tipping herself over onto her back and letting one listless arm flop over her eyes, "you'll have to finish what you started."

The elf drank in the sight of her like that, completely bare, utterly relaxed, smiling wickedly and peeking at him from beneath her arm, fully trusting in him even when defenseless. More than that, she made him feel _worth_ trusting. That precious gift alone was a debt he could never repay, but he would gladly spend his life trying.

Taking a few drops of oil from the vial, Fenris moved over Hawke, straddling her hips the same way he had before. It was an odd feeling position, especially when the insistent strain in his smalls was demanding a different one entirely, but the way Hawke's lips parted in anticipation made it worthwhile.

He started slow, nudging her arms back down to her sides before kneading into her shoulders. His hands wound their way down her biceps, drawing the length and contours of the muscles with slick fingertips. He caressed the dip at the inside of her elbow with his thumb and squeezed gently down the entirety of her forearms. When he reached her hands, their fingers twisted together in a rough, sensual dance. Hawke's eyes were shut again, her forehead lined with concentration, and Fenris stifled a growl when he felt her hips push up and against him.

Abandoning her fingers, Fenris dragged his palms up the sides of her stomach to her navel, lacing his fingers together before twisting his wrists to draw his thumbs up the center of her twitching abs. He barely brushed the underside of her breasts before he stroked downward, dragging a frustrated sound from the back of Hawke's throat. Her hands, now slick with oil, found his thighs, and her nails left crescent shaped marks in his flesh every time he hit a particularly sensitive spot.

"Fenris," she pleaded breathlessly, eyes mere slits sparkling up at him, "just _touch me_." She writhed and whined when his hands only danced away again, idly tracing circles around her hipbones as he admired the state of the woman beneath him.

Hawke moved so fast, he had no time to react. Her hands snaked beneath the legs of his smallclothes, slick, needy fingers searching and grasping and pulling in ways that had him groaning her name and thrusting into her touch. He dropped forward, bracing himself on his hands and panting against her throat, fighting for control as she worked him at an awkward angle. Her oiled skin slid against his chest, the feeling strange and new and fascinating. His sudden impatience to do away with the teasing was matched only by Hawke's own apparent flare of annoyance.

"Get these _off_," she hissed, yanking at his smalls. Desperation made the task all that much harder, but through some combined effort and a few lucky tears, the cloth was gone and he was finally flush against her, cradled between her welcome thighs.

She mewled and breathed filthy desires into his ear as they tangled together, squirming and thrusting and seeking, and he found himself snarling equally depraved longings in unsteady Tevinter. It was difficult to find purchase, to stop moving long enough to align their bodies, and he was beginning to lose control and think alignment might be unnecessary when suddenly she was _there_, hot and tight and drawing him in. He sought her mouth in a biting, mindless kiss as he pressed inside her, each swallowing the cries of the other.

He had not even fully thrust into her when she arched her back and clamped around him like a vice, her reaction so hard and unexpected that he nearly spent himself in that instant. He fought to hold back, but Hawke hooked her oiled legs up around his ribs, tightening the angle, and his restraint snapped. His thrusting turned wild and rough, one of his hands fisting in Hawke's hair as he clutched her to him with the other arm. His name tore from Hawke's lips, and his release hit him with a violent shudder that was nearly as much pain as pleasure. Fenris trembled through a few last thrusts before he rolled onto his side, dragging Hawke with him.

She lay curled against his as they caught their breath and the sweat cooled on their skin. Her fingers traced his chest, swirling in smooth patterns across his skin. She made a choking sound suddenly, then let the laughter break through.

She turned a grin up at him when he grunted in question. "You're…" she purred with a swipe of one finger down the center of his stomach, "_glistening_."

The elf frowned for a moment, then groaned when he realized her meaning. "You're going to tell her, aren't you?" he accused, though the mirth on his lover's face was almost enough to make him smile. The thought of Isabela's teasing quickly dashed aside that urge and brought out a scowl instead.

"Oh, I think not," Hawke assured him, nestling into his embrace. "I want you and all your glistening glory all to myself."

Fenris mumbled his relief and pressed a kiss against the woman's hair. The oil was beginning to feel grimy and uncomfortable against his brands, and the elf was considering the benefits of having fresh bath water brought up when Hawke spoke again.

"I don't know why you did…all this," she said softly, glancing up at him through her eyelashes, "but…thank you."

"I would do anything for you," he murmured, tracing the line of her jaw with the back of his knuckles and memorizing the full, content smile on Hawke's face. "Never doubt that."

The tender, lingering kiss she gave him in answer assured him that she never would.


	9. Bloody Hands

**A/N:** Darker and far less pleasant than previous installments. Based off my aggressive blood mage Hawke in a hard and fast rivalry with dear Fenris. My favorite way to romance him. Anger feeds my soul. Time frame is the missing years before the start of Act 3 sometime.

**Description:** Fenris discovers Hawke is not the woman he thought she was, and that they have much more in common than he will ever admit.

**Warning: **Violence, blood, mild swearing. **Anyone who is bothered by what can be construed as moderate domestic violence could possibly be made uncomfortable by the content of this story.** Read at your discretion.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

**

* * *

Bloody Hands**

It was a strange thing indeed, realizing he was staring into the eyes of the man poised to take his life. Fenris had always expected that there was some truth in the idea that a man's life would flash before his eyes when faced with certain death, but this was not the case for him. It all happened so fast that there was no time for much of anything – no regrets, no second guesses, no last wishes for his companions.

In truth, there was nothing on his mind as the dagger flashed toward his throat, aside from the pain of his many wounds, and a vague, rueful surprise that it would be some nameless raider who finally cut him down.

But the killing blow pulled short, drawing a narrow gash across the side of Fenris' neck instead of severing the artery. In that moment the room was filled with a keening shriek shattering against the walls, a discordant wail that rose above the clatter of battle, so piercing and inhuman that the elf wished he had the strength to cover his ears. The remaining raiders balked at the noise and several of them fled deeper into the cave, abandoning the battle to just a few unlucky stragglers.

Fenris' would-be killer towered over him, but the raider's weapons fell from his shaking hands as his back was bowed in agony, a familiar magic twisting and curling around his helpless, writhing form. That agonized howl was pouring from the raider's open mouth.

Clinging to consciousness, Fenris watched in disbelief as blood trickled from the man's eyes and ears, then bubbled up in his throat, turning his shrill screams into the sickening burble of a drowning man. A strange sensation washed over the prone elf, and suddenly it was easier to breathe, the world seemed clearer, and the pain of his wounds lessened as the bleeding stopped and bones realigned themselves. The raider, now silent and somehow _smaller_, dropped with a thud into the dirt beside him.

Fenris _knew_ that feeling, that familiar rush of dark magic that invoked nightmarish memories deep within him and could only mean one thing. Despite his body's protestations, the former slave struggled to sit up, to see what he knew to be impossible.

All was still as death, the battle over as abruptly as it had come. Anders stood in stunned silence near Fenris, and Varric came trotting from the other side of the room, his face lined with concern. In the center of the cavern knelt Hawke, her breathing labored and her face contorted in pained concentration. In her right hand was a dagger, the blade wet with her own blood. Fenris stared in sickened disbelief at the ribbons of red trickling down her left forearm.

"Blood mage!" he snarled, staggering to his feet and slapping Anders' hand away when the healer approached. The elf could no longer see the woman he had come to care for over the years – all he could see was another Hadriana, another Danarius, another twisted abomination in bed with demons. His own words burned in his mind, mocking him. _Mages will always turn to blood magic if they feel enough need._

Hawke's eyes opened slowly and fixed on his face. Aside from weariness, he could read nothing in her expression, and her emotionless response only enraged the elf further. She looked down and ran her finger over the open cut on her arm, and though her small burst of magic did not heal the wound, it did stop the bleeding.

"Have you nothing to say?" Fenris stalked toward her, oblivious to the way both Anders and Varric moved in closer to Hawke on some sort of protective reflex. The woman pushed to her feet and swayed a moment before fixing him with a dark stare. "Tell us, _blood mage_, what did the demon offer you? What did you give up? How long before you turn on us?"

"Hey, easy," Varric interrupted with a calming gesture, though he looked at Hawke with a wariness that had not been there before. "Let's just—"

"No," Hawke cut the dwarf off, her voice rough but calm. "Let him speak." She eyed Fenris with an expectant indifference that she had to know would bait the already incensed former slave.

The lyrium under his skin sang with his anger, and he lunged forward to catch the mage by her shoulders. The touch of her blood magic lingered on his flesh, a filthy taint that he knew from experience would not fade easily, and all he wanted was to shake her until time rolled backward to whenever she had made her damned deal for this cursed gift so he could stop her. How _dare _she use this foul power on him. His gauntlets dug into her shoulders, and Hawke bared her teeth at him in pain and defiance, but she did not struggle to escape his grasp.

"Get your hands off of her, you beast!" Anders cried amid the sinking sensation of the Veil thinning, his voice distorted by the spirit within him.

"Trust an abomination to take the side of a blood mage!" Fenris barked, but his eyes never left Hawke's face. She was as furious as he, her face pale and her jaw clenched with the effort of restraining herself from fighting him off. There was utterly no remorse in her, that much Fenris could see clearly, and the pain of that discovery cut the elf straight to his core. That pain fueled his anger, and his armored fingers dug into her flesh cruelly.

There was a flash, and the world was suddenly thrown into smoky darkness. Fenris growled in frustration as he was shoved back and Hawke ripped from his grasp. Despite his burning eyes and lungs, the elf glared at Varric as the smoke cleared, the dwarf now standing defensively between Fenris and Hawke.

"That's enough!" Varric bellowed. "This isn't the place for this! We're out of supplie_s, _in the middle of a raider camp, and we need to get out of here _now_! If you want to kill each other, do it on your own time!"

Fenris ground his teeth in frustration, but Varric only narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip on Bianca. Though there was a bolt ready to fly in the chamber, Fenris doubted the dwarf had the nerve to actually shoot him. There was no opportunity to test that theory, however, because Hawke sighed, snatched up her staff and strode away toward the entrance of the cave.

Fenris stalked after her, unwilling to either let her out of his sight or get too close to her. Anders and Varric fell in behind him, and the healer's quiet words to the dwarf echoed in the gloom.

"I didn't think you had it in you."

"Neither did I," Varric admitted, blowing out an unsteady breath. "I think I shit my pants. Remind me to never do that again."

The gloom softened, then Fenris was flooded in brilliant sunlight as they passed the entrance into the early afternoon air. Momentarily blinded, the elf shaded his face with one hand for a moment, ignoring the carrion birds screaming their agitation at him for passing too close to the corpses they had claimed. It was unnerving how quickly the creatures congregated after a battle.

When Fenris' vision had cleared, he discovered Hawke was far ahead of him now, following the coastal path as it wound along the cliff side. Lengthening his stride to keep up with her, the elf tormented himself with questions, agonizing over all of his time spent with the mage, the _blood_ mage.

They had never been friends, not in the way most would define the term, but he had believed that there was something there, something more than he had come to expect from life, something…unique. She was driven and strong and nothing like any mage he had known before. Now it seemed that he had been fooled, victim of yet another of magic's cruelties. But this betrayal felt worse than any other because it had been hidden, secreted away, and he had never even suspected the truth. Was he really such a fool, or was Hawke just a blind spot for him? He could not decide which answer was worse.

They walked for more than an hour along the same path until the cliffs faded into sandy beaches caressed by lazy waves. Hawke veered toward the shore and crouched in the gentle surf to scrub the blood from her hands. Anders joined her, and Varric settled himself in the scrubby grass beside the path to work the crusted gore off of Bianca's bayonet. Fenris paced the sand.

He was lost in his dark musings when he realized Hawke was standing again, arms crossed over her chest as she watched him move. Nothing in her expression revealed her thoughts, even when Fenris sneered at her. Her voice carried over the rush of the waves.

"Blood magic doesn't come from demons," she informed the irate elf.

Anders sluiced murky water from his arms and rocked back on his heels to look up at Hawke. "But it is the easiest way," he asserted, his eyes intense with many of the same conflicted feelings Fenris himself was experiencing.

Hawke turned her cold stare on her fellow mage. "In all the years you've known me, have I ever taken the easy way in anything?" she demanded with a tenuous edge of anger.

Anders glanced back to the sea, the answer all too clear, but Fenris was struck with a question of his own for the man. "Was it not you who said a mage must look a demon in the eye and accept his offer in order to use blood magic?" he snapped. His pacing slowed to a stop, but he shifted his weight restlessly and clenched his fists, idly wishing for some mad fools to attack them at that moment just so he would have an excuse to draw his sword.

Hawke's eyes flashed to the apostate, who cleared his throat nervously and refused to meet her eyes. "Maker's balls, Anders," she spat, "how in the Void do you keep all of your lies straight?"

"It's not a lie," Anders answered, rising to stand in a mirror image of Hawke's defensive posture. "Not technically. If you ask a blood mage where his power came from, he will almost always point to a demon."

"You fool," Hawke groaned, turning sharply away from the other mage to take a step closer to Fenris. "_I_ did not learn from a demon, and have no need for them."

"And yet you flaunt forbidden magic," he shot back.

"Flaunt?" she echoed in disbelief. The seething mage was directly in front of him then. "None of you even knew until now. You are the only living people who do know. Not even Carver knows!"

Fenris snorted and shook his head, twisting his anger into a cold, dead knot inside of him. "That only proves that you are far more dangerous than I ever could have imagined."

She recoiled from him as surely as if he had struck her, eyes flooded with incredulity and pain. It was only the second time he had seen such a look on her face, and he hated it just as much this time. She was far too strong to look so broken. Anders turned away with a shamefaced grimace and crouched to splash the briny water across the back of his neck.

Hawke had her back to Fenris, her shoulders slumped and head bowed. "I did it to save your life," she whispered almost too quietly for him to hear.

"I wish you hadn't," he answered with frigid honesty. It hurt them both for him to say it, but it was the truth and he could not pretend otherwise.

Her spine stiffened and she drew in a long, slow breath before facing him again with her cold mask in place. "Then I'm grateful it isn't your choice," she droned in a lifeless tone.

"Spoken like a true maleficar," Fenris retorted.

The woman's indifference cracked, narrowed eyes revealing hints of the emotions that simmered beneath the surface. "How many maleficar would risk themselves to save a life without asking for anything in return?" she ground out, her hands fisting at her sides.

Fenris barked out a sharp, humorless laugh and drawled, "None."

Hawke shook her head, momentarily confused, then his meaning sunk in and her eyes widened. Fenris would never forget the look on her face when her temper snapped. "I have never asked anything of you!" she cried, shoving his breastplate hard enough to rock him back a step. "You _chose_ to stay, you _chose_ to help! If you want to go, then go!"

"I will not abandon my debt," he replied, forcing himself to remain calm in the face of her unbound temper.

"To the Void with your debt!" she shouted with a wild, dismissive wave of her arm. "And to the Void with you! Shortsighted bastard, _look_ at the blood on your hands! How are _you_ any better?"

Fenris glanced down on reflex, raising his hands just a fraction to see the blood and gore smeared across his gauntlets and bare palms, but he shook his head at Hawke. "_I _cannot manipulate a man's mind. I cannot use his very blood to dominate and enslave him to my will."

"No, instead you can reach into his chest and crush his heart," she spat back. "Or snap his spine from the inside. Or torture him with unimaginable pain before tearing out his throat. All of these things I have seen you do!"

His anger flared to match hers, and Fenris found himself snarling, "I did not ask for this! It is a _curse_!"

"And I did not ask to be born a mage!" Hawke's voice cracked with emotion but did not falter. "But I cannot change it! You cannot undo what was done to you! We are _slaves_, the both of us, chained by what we are!"

An enraged cry tore from Fenris' throat as he lunged for the mage, his hands swallowing her thin arms in a crushing grip. The lyrium brands in his flesh blazed painfully, causing Hawke's magic to flare and form crystals of frost in the air and on their clothes.

"You know nothing of being a slave!" Fenris raged. Hawke sneered at him in defiance, and the sudden familiarity of the moment struck the elf and laced his anger with regret and doubt. Memories choked him – Hawke's mansion, his furious words to her, the biting rebukes she spewed back at him, her _touch_ on his arm that sparked passion and _want_ and the need to drive out the pain if only for a moment, _please just for a moment_.

His parting lie that it should never have happened at all.

Shaking himself out of the deluge of unwanted thoughts, Fenris shoved away from Hawke, desperate to put distance between them. She stumbled under the force of his push, but managed to keep her feet as she hissed spiteful curses at him under her breath. Fenris looked away, unable to meet her accusing stare, and discovered that Varric and Anders both had fallen into battle stances and were watching his every move.

"I learned blood magic from my father." Hawke spat her words in his direction, her voice low and trembling. "He learned it from books, forbidden books outlawed by the Chantry. I did not want to learn it, but he insisted that he would not always be around, and that I would need a way to protect our family.

"And he was right. When the templars came for us, they attacked Bethany on sight, without warning, without provocation. She was barely more than a child then, Fenris. Tell me, what would you have done to protect those you love?"

Fenris ground his teeth until his jaw ached, then sent a glance at Hawke through the veil of his hair. She was watching him with an expression closest to tormented remorse, and he grimaced to notice how she clutched one arm to her with the opposite hand, her robes stained with blood where his gauntlet had cut her.

With a shaky sigh, Fenris murmured, "I don't know." It was a cheap answer, but it was an honest one.

"I didn't know either," she admitted, her anger still present but quieter now. "Not until that day. I don't need some foul Fade spirit to do what needs to be done, and by the Void I will not let the Chantry's foolish laws keep me from saving your lives. I cannot and _will _not change who I am, not for you, not for the Circle, not for anyone. If you cannot stomach that, then I will remind you again that you are free to leave at your leisure."

Fenris watched her stoop to pluck her staff from the sand, and she had turned partially away from him when she stopped to give him a calculating stare. "If you believe me to be so dangerous, then turn me over to the templars." The elf's eyes danced away from hers, and he scowled at her disgusted snort. "Maybe it's time for you to figure out what exactly it is you want, Fenris."

She moved away, back toward the path that would lead her to the gates of Kirkwall. Varric and Anders followed, both sending uncertain looks over their shoulders at Fenris before jogging to catch up with the mage. Fenris watched them until their forms were small and far off, then disappeared completely as they rounded a bend. Loneliness descended on the quiet beach.

The elf turned to stare out over the water, watching the sunset dance across the tops of the waves. He hated how right she was, hated how badly he wanted her to be wrong. He knew he could not keep living like this, but neither did he know how to change it. For years, he had felt like he was waiting, suspended in time while the world moved around him and he wasted his life away with nothing but rats and wine for company.

Fenris knelt on the shore, dipping his bloody gauntlets into the water. He was fascinated by the little eddies that swirled and pulled away the red stains, revealing clean skin beneath, marked forever by lines of lyrium. He felt foolish when he realized he was expecting some grand revelation to strike him, perhaps some inspiration to form in the churning waters or something equally inane. He sighed and shook the water from his hands as he stood.

How easy it would be to walk away from everything he had grown accustomed to these last few years. Every bond he had was easily severed and there was nothing permanent to hold him here. Not for the first time he asked himself why he had stayed this long. True, it was as good a place as any to wait for Danarius to make his move, but was that reason enough to stay?

Fenris was no closer to finding any answers when he finally turned from the sea and began the long walk back to Kirkwall in the growing darkness. He made two decisions along the way. The first was that he would finally respond to a letter from a woman he still did not trust, and the second was that he would visit Hawke first thing in the morning.

He had no idea what he was going to say to either of them.


	10. Fear

**A/N:** And this definitely isn't the last of these. It's looking like three or four more at this point. Stupid overactive imagination. Anyway! Not a depressing one, I don't think. This one is Act 2, after Hadriana but before sexy time. I'm so grateful for the feedback you've all given me. For everyone reading - I hope you enjoy/are enjoying the stories. It's pretty unbelievable for me to see it get this much attention, but I'm certainly not complaining. Updates will probably be slower since real life is giving me dirty looks right about now.

**Description:** Hawke gets a good scare and needs some reassurance that only Fenris can provide. (Sounds like the start of a bad porno...)

**Warning:** Language, blood, mild adult situations and humor, and Isabela's bum. Briefly.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

**

* * *

Fear**

It was dark here, and heavy, so hard to feel, to think…to _remember_.

The pain came back to him first, a constant, cold ache that started small but spread and stretched and tore at his insides with angry clawed fingers. Instinct screamed at him to escape, to flee the agony at any cost, but he was held down, pinned, _chained_. He fought harder, but terror and anguish sliced through him, harder and deeper the more he struggled.

"Get his other leg!"

"Ow! Shit, he broke my fingers…"

"Just hold him!"

The voices came muffled and distorted, scattered and tripping over one another and adding to his panic. The chaos grew louder and louder, rushing down on him in a flood until he was convinced that the yelling was coming from inside his own head, trying to tear its way out through the back of his skull.

"Damn it, Anders! Heal him!"

That voice – he _knew_ that voice. It meant soft eyes and callused hands and compassion, even in those bleak moments when he was ruled by the dark pit of bitterness and hate in his heart. That voice was safety, and it calmed his thrashing, if only briefly.

"I'm doing the best I can!"

"Your best isn't good enough!"

"Let him do his job, Hawke!"

Cold hands slid over his flesh, hands that were _crawling_ with the insidious buzz of magic. He railed against the touch, head now swimming in screams that must have been coming from him, but the tainted fingers chased him, refusing to let him escape. He wanted to plead and beg for release, for mercy, for _death_, anything but more of magic's cruel embrace.

"Fenris…_please_…"

Then heat flooded him, pouring like liquid metal from those wicked hands, driving out the cold that had nearly swallowed him whole. Fire licked through his veins, both searing and soothing, bringing relief and an ecstasy that bordered on agony through every part of him. The brands on his flesh felt _alive_, moving and flowing under his skin like rippling rivers that traced the lines of his body in intimate caresses.

The world spun and blurred as his eyes flew open, every sense aflame with the flood of magic tearing through him. A strangled cry ripped from his throat, and he felt his back arch off of the hard wood beneath him. His arms and legs were still bound, and the instinct to fight until his last breath was the only thing he had left. A layer of dark energy spread across the surface of his skin, then blasted outward in a violent wave. And…Maker, _finally_ he was free.

Amid the sound of splintering wood and cries of pain, Fenris came back to himself. Digging his heels in, he tried to roll himself over, but every part of him felt numb and asleep. Someone groaned his name, and he forced his eyes open, struggling to make sense of the foggy shapes moving somewhere nearby.

"Well…uhhhnn…_balls_…I'd say he's going to survive."

Isabela, Fenris decided, that was Isabela. The pirate's crumpled form swam into focus somewhere near the foot of the table on which he was curled. She rolled to her knees then staggered upright, one hand clutched protectively against her stomach as she picked her way out of the remains of what appeared to have once been a chair.

Casting a forced smile in the elf's direction while shaking splinters from her hair, Isabela ground out a pained, "Welcome back, handsome."

Warm hands touched his face then, guiding his gaze away from the Rivaini to the eyes of the woman leaning over him. Fear and concern were etched across her features as she murmured soft questions that he did not care to answer. Fenris mouthed her name, but no sound emerged. Gentle fingers pushed sticky hairs back from his forehead and traced the line of his brow, the angle of his cheek, then slipped down his throat to his bare chest, feeling for something as she turned those comforting eyes away from him.

"Maker's breath, Anders," Hawke gasped, her fingers sweeping down the center of Fenris' sternum, a gesture the elf could barely feel, "there's not even a scar."

"I…that was…" Anders' voice trembled, and Fenris tilted his head to find the mage. He was braced against a nearby wall, pale and staring down at his own hands in disbelief. When he met the prone elf's gaze, Anders shook his head and blew out a long, unsteady breath. "That was…unexpected."

Isabela snorted. "You mean your healing making him explode? Yes, I imagine that's rare."

"I didn't do that," the mage retorted, pushing off the wall to cautiously approach Fenris. "That was all him. But the way it felt…Andraste's ass, it was…"

"He can barely move, Anders," Hawke interrupted with a sharp note of impatience.

"Oh! Right." The apostate moved away to rifle through a cabinet on the other side of his clinic. Hawke's fingers threaded through Fenris' hair in idle, soothing sweeps as they waited for Anders to return with a murky potion.

After he managed to choke down the foul brew, Fenris felt strength slowly flow through his limbs. He sighed in relief and let his eyes slide shut for a moment, and he was disappointed when Hawke's hands pulled away from him.

"What happened?" Fenris whispered.

"You took a longsword through the back," Hawke told him in a voice that was tightly controlled. "We got you here as fast as we could."

Images flashed behind his closed lids, glimpses of a battle and shouting and the sudden enormous _pressure_ crushing through his ribs from behind. Fenris swallowed a wave of nausea and decided he did not need to recall all of the details.

"How do you feel?" Anders asked, and even though the elf's eyes were still closed, he could feel the mage's analytical gaze dragging over him.

Fenris croaked, "I've been better."

"You and me both," Isabela snorted, and the elf cracked one eye open to see the pirate woman holding one shaking hand out toward Anders expectantly. Fenris cringed to see that the two first fingers were bloody and mangled at odd directions.

Grinding his teeth, Fenris pushed himself upright, shrugging off all attempts of assistance. He wobbled to one side as the world swam with dark spots for a moment, but there was no pain to speak of even when he kicked his bare feet off one side and sat on the edge of the table. He felt frustratingly helpless and stifled the urge to scowl.

With a weak gesture in the pirate's direction, Fenris offered a quiet, "If I'm responsible for that, then I apologize."

"What, this?" she scoffed with a flippant facial shrug at her hand, though she could not hide the pain behind her eyes. "Nothing a bottle of whiskey can't fix. I doubt I'll be so eager to save your life again, though. Nothing personal."

Fenris chuckled and mumbled his thanks to her, then flickered his eyes in the direction of Anders. "I owe you my life," he managed without choking on the words. He was not ungrateful – quite the opposite in fact, as he was in no hurry to see his life end – but they both knew that there would never come a day when they fully trusted each other.

"Yes, an abomination saved your life," the mage shot back with a roll of his eyes, though Fenris noticed his words lacked their usual heat. "I'm sure you must be heartbroken. Do us both a favor and don't let this happen again."

Fenris nodded at him, then realized Anders was frowning at a point somewhere over the elf's shoulder. He turned his head just in time to see Hawke vanish out the clinic doors. When he looked back, he caught Anders and Isabela exchanging a weighted glance, one Fenris decided it would be prudent to ignore.

As the apostate fussed over the grumbling pirate's broken fingers, Fenris slipped off the table and tested his balance before straightening up and taking a few steps. Aside from some residual dizziness and weakness, he felt close to normal. Under the shocking amount of blood covering every inch of the front of him, Fenris' skin felt as hale as it had before the injury.

"There," Anders was saying to Isabela, "your fingers are good as new."

The woman hummed her approval, then added, "I think I have a splinter in my ass, though. Don't look at me like that! It bloody well hurts."

With an indulgent sigh, the mage muttered, "Fine, then. Bend over and let's have a look."

"Ah," the pirate chuckled, "if I had a silver for every time I've heard that."

Fenris found himself glancing frequently toward the door Hawke had passed through as he cleaned himself with a handful of rags Anders had tossed his direction. There was no sign of her in all the time it took him to get back into his torn, bloodstained armor. He discovered her gloves trapped under his breastplate, the thick leather soaked in blood – _his_ blood.

"She thought you were dead, you know." Fenris stared at the gloves in his hand while Anders spoke. "I think she might have killed me if I hadn't been able to save you."

Silence fell for a moment before Isabela huffed out an impatient sigh. "If you don't go to her," she informed him matter-of-factly, "you'll be wearing my boot in your ass, Fenris."

"And we can't have that, can we?" he murmured with a faint smile in the direction of his two companions. "Once again, you have my thanks. Both of you."

When he left the Darktown clinic, the last thing Fenris expected was to find Hawke right outside the front doors. But there she stood at the railing, gazing up at the patches of night sky peeking through the woodwork overhead. He could see her stark white knuckles as she gripped the rail in both hands, and her hard, uneven breathing reached him long before he came up beside her.

She startled when he appeared, her eyes wild and shining in the dim light, then she let out a sharp sigh and looked away from him. Tension wracked her entire body, and he could see the tremble in her limbs. Fenris felt the inexplicable urge to apologize to her, though he was not sure how one might go about apologizing for nearly dying, but she broke the silence first.

"She was right," Hawke whispered with a shake of her head, turning her face up again toward the slivers of stars above them. "I hate it when she's right."

"Who?" Fenris asked.

"Aveline," she sighed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Fear and loss and…it's just never really hit me like this. Until now."

Frowning, Fenris moved closer to her, trying to read her expression. "What are you talking about?"

She turned her face toward him, eyes downcast. "Forgive me, Fenris," she whispered. "I just can't…"

He wanted to ask her what she could possibly have done to need his forgiveness, but she twisted then, the quick, lethal movements of a hunter. One hand caught the front of his breastplate, dragging the surprised elf to stumble against her. His lyrium brands flared reflexively, lighting up Hawke's eyes and making her gasp. Warm fingers threaded through the hair on the back of his head, sending a shiver through him. Her face was but a hairsbreadth from his, lips parted and panting against his own in a way that shot an unfamiliar stab of anticipation and curiosity through him.

"Tell me," she breathed, her voice demanding and edged with desperation. He could feel the fear trembling through every part of her. "Tell me you're alive, Fenris."

His hands found their way to the base of her spine, gauntlets digging into her leathers to hold her against him. "I'm here, Hawke," he murmured, brushing his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to adjust to the strangeness of this new intimacy. After so many years of training himself to keep everyone at a distance, the feeling of this woman in his arms was…confusing, if vaguely pleasant. "For as long as you have need of me."

The small, breathless whimper Hawke made upon hearing his words brought the elf's eyes open as the confusion gave way to longing. Her lips touched his once gently, briefly, a tender question that he could easily refuse. Then her mouth was on him hard and demanding and sending desire crashing through all of his hesitation. She pushed against him, both of her hands in his hair, fingers tugging and scraping at his scalp. When her tongue slid between his lips, Fenris gave up any semblance of resistance and growled into her mouth as he viciously returned the heated kiss.

He did not even realize she was pushing him backward until he hit the side of the clinic with a soft grunt. Twisting, the elf shoved Hawke against the wall instead, pinning her with his weight despite the discomfort of their armor. One of her thighs came up to curl around his waist and Fenris loosed a ragged groan into the soft flesh of Hawke's neck. The needy sounds rasping from low in her throat were maddening and it was no small effort to keep from tearing her leathers off right there in the middle of Darktown.

"I thought I lost you," she sighed breathlessly, and Fenris pulled back to frame her face with his palms. A single tear slipped from her lashes and trailed down her flushed cheek.

She was cry for _him_. Had anyone ever wept with concern for him? If they had, Fenris could not remember it, and this discovery of just how deep Hawke's feelings for him ran was both liberating and terrifying. Fenris found himself unable to do more than press soft, trembling kisses against her bruised lips, memorizing each sigh and touch.

The moment was shattered when the clinic door creaked open. Fenris and Hawke, still tangled together against the wall, blinked blankly at an equally surprised Anders and Isabela. It was, predictably, the pirate woman who broke the silence first, thrusting her palm out toward the apostate mage with a wide grin on her face.

"You owe me a sovereign," she chortled.

Anders scowled as he dug for his coinpurse. "This isn't a brothel, you know," he grumbled, watching Fenris ease away from Hawke to let her stand on her own feet. "There's enough bodily fluids around here as is."

Isabela snickered and sauntered off with her payment, calling loudly over her shoulder, "You'd better bed him quick, Hawke. Before someone else takes advantage of that impressive bulge in his pants."

Heat crawled up the back of Fenris' neck as he sneered after the infuriating woman, and his embarrassment compounded when Hawke choked on a laugh. Anders slunk back into his clinic with a disgusted grunt, leaving the couple alone once more.

Hawke's fingers traced the line of his jaw, turning his attention back to her. She seemed calmer, her hands no longer shaking, and the faint smile on her lips was reflected in her eyes. Whatever reassurance she had sought in him, it seemed she had found it, and it was now Fenris' turn to feel like his world had been tilted on its side.

Despite the new fear blossoming in his chest, Fenris returned the tentative kiss Hawke pressed to his lips. When she whispered an invitation and he responded with a promise, he knew he was lost, wrapped up so tightly in Hawke's life that he doubted he could ever be free of her. He wondered idly if that should worry him more than it did, but when she smiled at him like _that_, he decided it was something he would just have to worry about another day.

* * *

**Random Aside:** I'd love to explore the notion of Janders' healing reacting unexpectedly to Fenris' brands in a situation like this, but my mind always goes in...non-Hawke/Fenris directions...ahem.


	11. Protective Streak

**A/N:** I didn't intend to post this one next, but it kind of wrote itself...in like an hour. So, yeah. Timeframe is after Act 2 in the deadzone years. For those of you who hate Carver - I'm sorry. For those of you who love him...well, I'm still sorry. Personally, I adore him. Reminds me of my relationship with my own brother. And you all are just a huge mess of awesome, lemme tell ya - thank you for the reviews!

**Description:** Butt kicking for goodness.

**Warning:** Blood and brawling.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

**

* * *

Protective Streak**

Fenris was jolted awake by the sound of thunderous pounding against his front door in the middle of the night. Shaking away the lingering cobwebs of sleep, he threw himself out of bed and lunged for his sword. When the door downstairs crashed open, the elf cursed himself for not sleeping in his armor and prepared to face whatever slaver or thief had dared to enter his lair.

"Where are you hiding, you knife-eared bastard!"

Fenris frowned to himself and lowered his sword a notch. He knew that voice, though he could not at first place it.

"I know you're here, coward! Show yourself!"

Armored footsteps echoed on the stairs, and Fenris raised his sword again in anticipation, though he was beginning to suspect he might not need the weapon. A templar appeared in the doorway of his bedroom, armor gleaming ominously in the faint light from the low fire as he stalked toward the elf.

"You're awake. That's good," the dark-haired man snarled, yanking off his gauntlets, tossing them aside then raising both fists in challenge. "Because I am going to kick your ass."

Startled, Fenris lowered his weapon and straightened out of his battle stance. "Carver?"

"So glad you remember me," the human sneered, closing the distance between them so quickly that Fenris was forced to prepare to defend himself, even though he kept his sword low. "I warned you, elf. No one messes with my sister and gets away with it!"

Fenris tried to speak, but was instead forced to duck an incoming swing and leap back. He maneuvered himself to put a chair between him and the irate human, but Carver was right on top of him, following through with a second fist that narrowly clipped Fenris' chin and made the elf stumble in surprise.

This was not the same boyish brat Fenris had known years ago, not the young fool who complained and baited and wasted his time on whores and ale. This was a grown man, a templar, a hardened warrior who spent his days surrounded by dangerous mages, and he was _very_ angry. Underestimating him would have painful consequences.

Fenris abandoned his sword, knowing that if he were tempted to use it, everything would change. Not only would he have to face Hawke's wrath, but he would then have the templars to deal with, and he had no intention of drawing attention of that kind. It was going to prove hard enough to control his anger and instincts without bringing a weapon into play.

Carver churned after him, and Fenris knew the larger human encased in his metal shell had the advantage of strength and protection that the nearly naked elf did not. But this was his home, his territory, and Carver did not know it like Fenris did.

As he neared, Fenris grabbed the leg of a broken down desk beside him and flipped the piece of furniture directly into Carver's path. The templar cried out and reeled back against the wall when the desk hit his thighs.

"We don't have to do this, Carver!" Fenris called as he moved to stand in front of the door leading to the main hall, ready to put distance between them should the need arise.

The human growled and kicked the desk out of the way. "Oh, I think we do," he shot back, his hands fisted at his sides. "You thought you could toss her aside and break her heart and it wouldn't matter to anyone?"

Fenris started to back out the door, but Carver caught him off guard when he lowered his shoulder and charged straight into the elf. Fenris whipped to one side too late and found himself caught around the middle in a fumbling grip as they both went sprawling into a grunting, struggling heap of limbs and squeaking metal.

Carver used the weight of his armored body to gain the advantage as they grappled, pinning the combative elf beneath him as both of them attempted to get their hands around the other's neck. Fighting back the long-engrained training that screamed at him _to kill this man_, Fenris growled, "You're in no place to judge me. You joined the templars just to spite her, you hypocrite!"

The declaration earned him a fist to the face that made his teeth clack together and left him seeing stars behind his eyes. He threw a wicked blow of his own, the heel of his hand smashing the bridge of Carver's nose with a satisfying crunch. The human jerked back with a bellow, blood pouring from his face, and Fenris used the distraction to twist his much nimbler body. Before Carver could recover, Fenris managed to get both feet on his chest and _heave_, throwing the templar back.

Carver staggered to his knees, but managed to right himself without falling, and Fenris wasted no time scrambling away toward the stairs to getting far out of the man's reach. Hawke's brother lunged after him, shouting, "Being a templar means I can better protect her, you bastard! Some of us actually _care_ what happens to her!"

He knew he should not have let anything damage his focus, but Carver's words made Fenris' steps falter, made him look back at his attacker and sneer. "You run from your family and call it protection? At least I stayed!"

Fenris did not even see the fist coming before it cracked into his mouth, flooding his tongue with the taste of blood. Dazed, the elf staggered and slipped off the top stair, feeling himself careening sideways into empty air.

The second landing was not all that far down, a fact Fenris was grateful for, but the impact was agonizing. His back took most of the impact, forcing the wind from his lungs in a rush as several ribs groaned in protest and his head smacked against the marble. Desperate for air, Fenris writhed on the cold floor and watched through bleary eyes as Carver tromped slowly down the stairs after him.

"She said you were a good man," the templar spat at him, "that you needed help, and she wanted to be there for you. All she's ever wanted was to do right by you. And how did you repay her?"

Fenris remained prone until Carver was towering over him, shaking his head in disgust. The elf swung his legs up, catching the back of Carver's knee with his own and throwing him off balance. Fenris then shoved up _hard_ between the templar's legs with his other foot, crushing Carver's codpiece up into his pelvis with all the force he could manage. Choking on a whimper, the human staggered back – straight off the second landing and down the last of the stairs to the main hall in an explosive clatter of metal-on-stone.

Enjoying the sudden silence, Fenris took a moment to groan and catch his breath, spitting blood onto the floor from his throbbing mouth. Carver's answering groan was a few octaves higher, his armor scraping against the marble each time he moved. Fenris focused on wobbling himself upright to sit propped against the wall, then waited for the room to stop rolling like the waves of the sea.

"Are you alive?" Fenris ground out, fingering the swelling already forming beneath his eye. It hurt to breathe, he realized, and a quick inspection revealed at least one cracked rib.

Carver panted a few times, then wheezed, "If I never have children, I'm blaming you."

Fenris snorted and spat another mouthful of blood, cringing as his ruined lip split and cracked open. "I'm sure it will have nothing to do with your charming personality."

The templar muttered under his breath as he struggled his way upright, or as upright as he could manage in full plate, and winced as he adjusted the crotch of his armor a few times. Blood still leaked from his nose, dripping across his mouth where he blew it away in a fine, red spray that hung in the air for a heartbeat. "This is the point where I threaten to kill you if you even look at my sister again," Carver stated with a bland stare.

Fenris nodded slowly, then replied, "To which I will say it's not your decision to make."

Carver sighed and rolled his head back to stare up at the ceiling. "Right. It's hers. And she's too stubborn to listen to me."

"A fact I think we can all be grateful for," Fenris drawled. His head was throbbing and for one fleeting moment, he wondered what would happen if he swallowed his pride and limped to Darktown to ask Anders to patch him up. It was almost worth trying, just to see the look on the mage's face. "She will do as she wishes, just as she always does."

Fenris scowled when he realized Carver was watching him with the same calculating look Hawke sometimes wore. "I see," the templar chuckled without humor and rolled noisily to his feet. "You love her." The cocky younger man shook his head and curled his lip when Fenris averted his eyes. "Well, isn't that just _perfect_. She loves you and you love her and you're both too stupid to make it work."

"It's better this way," Fenris lied, shifting to sit with his knees up and his arms resting across them. "For both of us."

Carver groaned out a long, exaggerated noise of disgust. "And this is exactly why I frequent the brothel," he snorted, turning his back to Fenris and hobbling toward the front door. "It's just so much simpler that way."

Fenris watched the man a moment, then called, "Your gauntlets are still upstairs."

Carver waved one dismissive hand over the back of his head. "I'll get a new pair," he tossed over his shoulder. "I won't be able to look at those again without seeing your ugly face."

A smirk tugged the corner of the elf's mouth, his injuries protesting the movement. After the door clanked shut, Fenris' chuckle echoed throughout the domed ceiling. "It was nice to see you again, Carver," he laughed into the empty room.


	12. Unwanted

**A/N:** Biggest yet and wanted to be bigger. Bah, how this silly idea eats at my brain. This seems to fit best in a pre-romance area, early Act 2-ish. I hereby dedicate this story to my fellow cat lovers. My sincerest THANK YOU! to all readers, reviewers, and all related subtypes. You are the awesome in my sauce.

**Description:** Hawke gives Fenris that loan he needs for upkeep on the mansion. Sort of.

**Warning:** Uh, some implied nudity? Really, this a srsly fluffy bit o' fluff. You might be scarred for life.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

* * *

**Unwanted**

"Rats."

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Hawke's odd greeting and watched the woman cross the room to his desk. She gently set the wooden box in her arms down before turning to face his seat in front of the fire.

"You have rats," she clarified.

"Ah, yes," he agreed, pushing himself carefully out of the chair. His ribs gave a sharp twinge and he reminded himself to take slow breaths, but he masked the pain and padded on silent feet toward Hawke. "In the cellar."

"In more than the cellar," she rebuked with a lopsided smile and quick laugh. "I've seen a few prancing around the main hall these last few weeks, Fenris. Been teaching them to dance in your off hours?"

The elf let slip a low chuckle and shook his head. "Well," he swept one arm in an arc to indicate the drab interior of his home, "what else have I to do with my time?"

Hawke hummed thoughtfully and studied the extensive bandages wrapped around Fenris' chest and left shoulder. "Still that bad?"

When she looked at him like that, all soft eyes and compassion, Fenris always had a difficult time holding her gaze. "I'll survive," he assured her, then changed the subject by gesturing to the heavy pack she carried slung over her shoulder. "Are you leaving town?"

"Indeed we are," she said with a rueful shake of her head. "Isabela talked me into another treasure hunt. Shouldn't be more than a fortnight." She sighed and rubbed the center of her forehead with her fingers. "Maker, I hope this one ends better than the last. I suppose it can't be worse. Uh…" she made a face and laughed, "I shouldn't have said that, should I?"

Seeing no amusement in the notion of suffering a repeat of their last pirate-led fiasco, Fenris scowled and complained, "I should be going with you."

"Hah," Hawke scoffed, her smile still firmly in place, "and defy healer's orders? I think not. Abominations have terrible tempers, or so I'm told."

The elf wanted to strangle Anders for telling Hawke what were likely exaggerations of the extent of his wounds. "Then you should wait a few days," he tried again, tilting his chin in challenge and doing his best to sound perfectly reasonable. "If this is just another hunt and there's no rush, then I see no reason for—"

"Fenris." She had that soft look again and that infectious, crooked half-smile on her lips, the one that made the center of his chest coil and the room feel warmer. "Stop worrying. We'll be fine. I'm immortal, or haven't you figured that out by now?"

Despite his frustration with her decision, Fenris could not help but laugh sharply and shake his head at the cheeky wink she offered him. "It wouldn't surprise me," he admitted with a resigned sigh.

"Oh, don't do the puppy eyes," she groaned, blithely ignoring the sour look this earned her from the elf. "Besides, I brought you a gift! Or, well, more like a loan really. Sort of. Maybe just until we get back, or until your rats are dealt with?"

Hawke turned to the box she had carried in and began to carefully peel back the lid. Feeling awkward, Fenris started to say, "I'm fine, Hawke. I don't need—"

The box meowed.

"Oh, don't be scared, sweetie," Hawke cooed in a ridiculous baby voice. Fenris peered over the edge of the box to spy a fluffy ball of gray fur crouched in the bottom. "There're lots of yummy, yummy rats to eat here, oh yes there are."

"What is that?" Fenris asked flatly, then cut a sidelong glance at the woman who was now making kissy sounds at the creature.

"She's a cat, you daft elf," Hawke answered, and a soft meow of agreement echoed from the box. "And stop looking at me like I've gone mad. She's a great mouser." The woman's voice shifted again and she oozed, "Isn't that right, girl? You can keep poor Fenris company while Mum's out raiding for treasures."

The cat gazed up at Hawke with great, orange eyes and arched into the woman's hand as it passed along her furry spine. Then those eyes shifted to Fenris and went round as saucers. The animal cowered back into the farthest corner of the box, her ears pinned against her skull. Baring an impressive set of fangs, the cat hissed menacingly at the elf and growled long and low in her throat.

Hawke pulled her hand out of the box with a startled sound. "Well," the woman declared, "she's never done _that_ before. You really have a knack for bringing out the best in everyone."

"It's a talent," Fenris droned. "Hawke, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but this isn't necessary."

"Of course it is," she insisted over the sound of the cat's continued growls.

"No," he impatiently assured her, "it really isn't."

"No, you don't understand," Hawke explained as she attempted to soothe the cat with gentle scratches around her ears, but the animal only scooted away from her touch to the other side of the box. Those orange eyes never left Fenris' face for a moment. "It actually _is_ necessary. Several of your neighbors have filed complaints with the Viscount's office about the rats. Aveline's tearing her hair out trying to keep it quiet. She said to tell you that if you don't do something about it immediately, she'll have you tarred and feathered and dragged through the streets."

Fenris gave her a dubious stare. "She didn't really say that."

"Of course she did," Hawke grinned. "She's always going on about—"

The cat chose that moment to spring from the box in a noisy flail of limbs, dart across the room and disappear under Fenris' bed.

"Aww, look!" Hawke enthused in a false tone. "She's making herself at home. It's like _fate_."

"Hawke…" Fenris groaned, ready to demand that the woman dig her cat out from under his bed and _please leave_ the way she had come.

"No, no, it'll be fine!" she argued, though the fake smile she had plastered across her face was anything but reassuring. "She'll warm up to you. Or…you'll warm up to each other. Because you're so good at the whole 'warming' bit." Her smile wobbled, but she added hastily, "And even if you hate each other that doesn't mean she can't take care of the rat problem. Right? Right."

Hawke seemed blind to the dark look she was receiving from the elf and continued talking without pause. "She'll come out to hunt when she's hungry, but don't forget to leave water out for her. By the time I haul back that mountain of treasure, you'll be rat free and she'll have doubled her weight. Wins all around!"

Fenris felt trapped and defenseless, if a little resentful, in the presence of Hawke's confidence. With a sigh, he mumbled a grudging, "Very well," and tried not to enjoy the gleeful grin this brought to the woman's face.

"Well, then." She cleared her throat and glanced toward the door. "I suppose I should get moving before Isabela comes looking for me. Aveline and Varric aren't coming with us, so if you need anything…"

There was an awkward moment when their eyes met and Hawke wet her lips with the tip of her tongue as if she had more to say. When she abruptly raised her arm, Fenris stiffened on reflex and eyed her warily, wondering why she would suddenly try to touch him. She let her hand hang in front of his face for a moment, her crooked smile in place, and assured him gently, "I don't bite."

She moved her hand forward and curled the forelock of his hair around her finger, giving it a little tug. Dropping her arm back to her side, she warmly said, "Take care of yourself, Fenris."

Hawke turned to leave but paused in the doorway. "Oh, by the way, the cat? Her name is Amell." She grinned and winked. "Drives Mother crazy."

And then she was gone.

For the first day, Fenris did little more than sleep and recover. Though he had received healing for his injuries, the bruising across his ribs and spine ached constantly, and the deep laceration that had cleaved into his shoulder made it impossible for him to raise his sword above chest height. Breathing was a struggle, and the hope of finding a comfortable position in which to rest was laughable. Frustrated and weak, the elf did his best to block out the boredom and spared only a random thought or two for the cat still holed up under his bed.

The second day passed much like the first, though Fenris forced himself to dress and buy food in the market. No matter how many years passed, this was always an awkward experience filled with stares and whispers and the occasional rude comment, though those were rarely made to his face. It was a comfort to step back into his dark home, the cool, dusty air bringing with it a strange sense of security.

The cat was sitting on his desk in his room when he stepped inside, and the elf paused in surprise to watch her lazily licking her paw and passing it over her face. Her eyes were shut and she wore an almost human smile. Fenris took a step and the cat froze, her paw still lifted to her mouth, and fixed the elf with an unwavering stare. After a long moment, Fenris tilted his head to one side with an annoyed sigh.

The cat bolted under the bed, a low growl trailing behind her.

Fenris sat down to eat his meal, musing under his breath that it did not surprise him that Anders preferred cats.

On the third day of Hawke's absence, Fenris caught himself thinking about the animal more and more. He did not want to care, but when he noticed that the water he had put out for her had gone untouched, he could not help but wonder if that was normal. He could not imagine Hawke would be pleased if she returned to find her borrowed gift was ill or dead on his watch. The idea of seeing her upset was…uncomfortable. So, against his better judgement, Fenris looked under the bed.

Nothing but cobwebs greeted him.

Favoring his mending side, the elf sat up on his knees to peer over his mattress at the rest of the room, then looked back under the bed again. There was not so much as a tuft of hair to indicate that the cat had been here. Fenris decided that she must have gone to another part of the mansion and pushed to his feet to look around the rest of his dilapidated home.

Three fruitless hours later, a sweating, swearing elf with aching ribs stormed up the stairs to his bedroom. He had heard the cat meowing a few times in the distance, but had not seen even a glimpse of her during his search. He had, however, found several fat, healthy rats building nests in piles of rubble that were too unstable for him to disturb. They stopped to watch him search for the feline, and he could swear the vermin were laughing at him.

And there in his room was the cat, curled on the foot of his bed and idly grooming her tail.

"You," Fenris growled before he had thought better of it. The animal shot to her feet, but stayed crouched on the bed, her orange eyes round and wary. Gritting his teeth, the elf bit out, "Get…off…my…bed," and took a slow step across the room.

The cat leapt from the bed and dashed past him into the dark corridor leading to the stairs. Feeling incredibly satisfied, Fenris crawled between his blankets and slipped off to weary slumber. Right before the Fade could claim him, he chuckled to himself as he realized that he had scared the cat so badly that she forgot her customary parting growl.

For all of the fourth day, Fenris neither saw nor heard from the cat, which was just fine in the elf's opinion, as he was absorbed in the removal of his bandages. It was a slow, awkward process without the aid of another person, but it was far from impossible and not the sort of thing he would bother anyone else with even had most of them not been away from the city.

Once he had freed himself from the bindings, he performed a slow, deep inspection of his wounds and was pleased with what he found. The ribs were tender but the bruises had faded to an ugly yellow-green, and though his shoulder would scar, he could at least lift his weapon without suffering crippling pain. He could not see his back, but it gave only the faintest twinge when he stretched and shrugged into his armor. He spent the rest of the afternoon sparring with imaginary opponents in the main entryway of the mansion.

The next morning, Fenris warmed water over the fire and filled one of the basins on the first floor that served as his bathing room. Easing into the wet heat, he groaned his pleasure into the empty room and relaxed in the shallow pool, letting his eyes fall shut for a few dozing moments.

Something tickled his fingers, and he lifted one eyelid to find the cat standing outside the basin, cautiously sniffing at his fingers. He shifted his head and opened his other eye to look at her fully, which caused the cat to shrink away and freeze, but she did not flee. She was not a very large animal, he noted, almost smaller than the rats themselves. Her round eyes did not strike him as particularly intelligent, and he felt justified with that conclusion when she mewed forlornly at him and scuttled from the room. Shaking his head, he began to scrub at his skin, wondering why anyone would want such an odd creature as a pet.

That night, he visited Varric for their weekly game of cards. The dwarf was particularly chatty, far more so than usual, and Fenris accepted this without comment on the unspoken understanding that they were both lonely from being left behind. To Fenris, friendship was still an odd and unsettling beast, but it was not an unpleasant one.

Varric was in the process of thoroughly trouncing the scowling elf when he glanced up with a calculating stare that Fenris had learned meant he was digging for information. "So. I heard Hawke's making you take care of her cat while she's gone."

Fenris raised an eyebrow but did not otherwise indicate his surprise. "Where did you hear this?"

"Oh, here and there," the dwarf shrugged. "And you've been working on your tells, elf. Looking good."

With a snort of dry amusement, Fenris wondered, "Now you're flattering me? You must really want something."

Varric shook his head and idly rummaged through his hand. "I already know Amell is at your mansion, after all. I was just wondering how she's adjusting."

"I…" Fenris gave the dwarf an incredulous look. "You speak of her as if she is a person."

"Hawke certainly thinks so," Varric answered with an amiable smile. "You know she sleeps with that cat every night? Calls it her baby. And she never lets it outside. She's scared it'll end up in Darktown and get eaten." He chuckled and shook his head. "I tell you what, I'd hate to be the guy who let anything happen to little Amell."

Fenris did not stay at the Hanged Man long after that, and his losses were far greater than usual. His distracted thoughts kept skipping away from the cards and small talk to ponder the possible breaches in his mansion. He knew at least two windows were missing, but could not for the life of him recall if they would be accessible to the cat. The longer he thought about it, the more likely it seemed, and no amount of wine seemed to take his mind off of the concern.

The mansion was as dark and silent as always when Fenris staggered drunkenly through the doors. He stood in the main hall, listening for the cat for a long moment, but he was greeted only by the mocking flash of a scurrying rat. He considered calling out for Amell, then cursed himself for being a fool and stumbled upstairs to his bed.

The sixth day dawned to a pounding hangover. Fenris's body told him on no uncertain terms that bed was where he belonged, but guilt nagged at him until he gave up and dragged himself upright to pull on a shirt. Hawke's cat might be an irritating and worthless burden, but Hawke's continued friendship was neither of those things. Clinging to that thought, the elf trudged off to board up the broken windows.

He neither heard from nor saw the cat that entire day. The water was gone from her bowl, however, so he refilled it and hoped that was a sign that she had not escaped. He spent the later hours sprawled across the rug in front of his fireplace, leafing through a few of the embarrassing children's picture books Hawke had gifted him. He nodded off in the soothing warmth there, and when he woke, he started to rise only to notice that Amell was asleep on his bed, curled on his pillow with her face tucked under her tail. With a sigh, the elf flopped back onto the rug and promptly drifted off to the Fade again.

Fenris woke the next morning before dawn to what he could only describe as a _yowl_ from downstairs. He was on his feet and bounding down the stairs before he even realized what the noise was. Sitting in the center of the entry hall was Hawke's cat, staring at him as if he had lost his mind. Which, he considered as he ran a hand through his tousled hair, was not all that inaccurate.

Amell let out another loud, mournful cry, rose from her haunches and walked calmly into one of the downstairs bedroom. There, she sat down again. And yowled. When nothing but silence answered her, the cat stood up and, without so much as a glance at Fenris, moved on to the next room to repeat the process.

This ritual continued until well after midday. Fenris considered leaving the mansion for a while, but Varric had taken a deep bite out of his coinpurse and he did not want to be tempted to waste more coin. When the cat brought her noisy tour to the upstairs rooms, Fenris took his sword to the main hall and practiced a few older combat forms. He found himself missing the rush and heat of battle, and he hoped Hawke would return soon.

Sweating and breathing heavily, Fenris spun out of a series of swings, but his feet faltered when he realized the cat was watching him intently from the stairs. Shaking the hair from his eyes, the elf gave the animal a questioning look. Amell tilted her head and made a soft trilling sound in the back of her throat, then turned to head back up the stairs, her fluffy tail raised high. Fenris snorted at both her display and himself, then went back to his practice.

That night, Amell caught and ate a rat.

She left the mutilated head and spine on Fenris' pillow for him to find.

This lovely gift reminded Fenris of something he had not even considered. When the eighth day of Hawke's absence arrived, the elf set out on a thorough search of his home. He found what he was looking for when he slipped on a cold, wet puddle in a random closet downstairs. The stench of urine and feces assaulted his nose, but he was somewhat relieved to discover that the cat was mostly using a tattered basket as a feline chamber pot. As he grumbled to himself and cleaned the mess, Amell watched him from the hall while she cleaned one dainty paw.

Afterward, Fenris went upstairs to heat water for a bath. Amell followed him.

Fenris carried the boiling water downstairs and poured it into the basin. Amell followed him.

Fenris went back upstairs for cold water. Amell followed him.

Everywhere he turned, the cat was right on his heels, watching him carefully but never actually getting underfoot. When his bath was ready, Fenris felt incredibly awkward having the cat stare holes in his back as he undressed and slipped into the tub. Once he was settled and her orange eyes were still fixated on him, the elf demanded, "What do you want?"

Amell trilled at him the same way she had the day before and promptly trotted up to the edge of the bathtub, tail waving like a flag behind her. Balancing her little gray paws on the lip of the basin, she stood up on her hind legs and proceeded to lap at the water between Fenris' feet.

"That can't be healthy," he observed dryly. "I'm not exactly clean. And you have a perfectly serviceable dish just over there."

Amell twitched an ear but continued to sate her thirst uninterrupted. Fenris realized he was talking to a cat, and with an irritated sigh, he dunked his head beneath the water for several long seconds. When he surfaced, Amell had moved around the head of the tub and was sniffing at his sopping hair. His glare earned him a curious meow, but the cat obliged him and moved to one corner of the room to groom herself.

She caught two more rats that day, leaving little bits of them here and there for Fenris to find. When she was not hunting, she was always within sight. If he left her sight, she would loudly voice her disapproval and search for him. He could not so much as relieve himself without his audience of one in attendance. He supposed he should be grateful that she did not at least insist on eating her meals at his side.

That night as he sat at his desk making feeble attempts to practice his letters, something warm and soft brushed against his shin. Leaning back, he frowned at the cat staring up at him, then jerked in surprise when she sprang lightly into his lap.

She weighed hardly anything at all, but her long claws caught and pulled at the rough cloth of his pants as she turned around and around a few times. She sniffed at his legs, his chest, his arms, the desk, the paper, his quill, her long whiskers leaving little trails of sensation that made him want to scratch at his skin. Apparently satisfied with her inspection, she turned in a tight circle one last time, then curled her legs beneath her to lay across his thighs and closed her eyes contentedly.

Fenris sat still in surprise for some moments before setting aside his quill. His hesitation was obvious, probably to both of them he wagered, but he gently placed his fingers along the cat's back and stroked her fur. Her long hair was very soft beneath his callused touch, and when she did not seem bothered by the contact, he repeated the gesture with more confidence.

A loud, unbroken purr rumbled in the little animal's chest, and Fenris could not stop a smile from pulling at the corners of his mouth. Amell adjusted her position with little shifts of her feet a few times, then promptly placed her chin on her paws and fell asleep.

Fenris dozed off in the chair that night, unwilling to disturb his companion, his fingers curling and uncurling in the soft warmth of Amell's fur. When he woke at dawn, the cat was absent, probably off hunting, and his neck and back were on fire from the awkwardness of his sleeping position. He vowed not to be so foolish again, but when the cat climbed into his lap that night, it was not easy to lift and set her on the floor, especially when she mewed pitifully and looked up at him with sad eyes.

He would never admit how pleased he was when the cat followed him to his bed and jumped up on the foot before he had even sat down. It took him only moments to settle himself into a comfortable position.

It took Amell over an hour.

She circled him, sniffing the covers and occasionally stopping to knead a particularly soft part of the blanket with her paws.

She then walked _on_ him – all of him. Across his legs, up his hip, onto his flank where she dug in deep with her claws to knead and work the blanket. Fenris hissed when her claws breached the material and scratched his skin, but the raucous purring from the feline stopped him from pushing her away.

Eventually, _finally_, she settled herself near his chest, stretching out to sleep pressed against him. Fenris slipped off to the Fade with the sound of her happy rumbles in his ears. This quickly became a nightly routine.

A few days later, nearly two weeks after Hawke had set out on her adventure, Fenris once again walked to the Hanged Man to play Diamondback with Varric. He was surprised and concerned to find the dwarf chatting with Anders.

"Didn't you leave with Hawke and Isabela?" the elf asked without preamble.

Anders pressed his lips into a thin line and muttered, "Yes, hello to you, too. No, I didn't go with them, obviously. I have a clinic to look after."

Fenris thought it strange that Hawke would not mention Anders had stayed behind along with Aveline and Varric, but he decided that she must have thought he would not care either way. Which was mostly true, aside from the notion that he would have liked the comfort of continuing to think Hawke was in the hands of a capable healer.

"I'm surprised you have time for cards," the mage added with an odd little smile. "What with your new friend keeping you busy and all."

"I don't see how that's any of your concern," the elf replied coldly.

"The kitty doesn't like you much, I take it?" Anders seemed decidedly smug about something, and Fenris was confused by the way Varric elbowed the mage in the ribs. "Cats are picky about the company they keep. Wisely so."

Fenris shrugged. "She's…warmed up to me," he admitted, a wry smile attempting to form on his lips. "And I to her, apparently."

Anders face fell as he heard these words, and Varric was staring in surprise at the elf. "Hah!" the dwarf crowed triumphantly, slapping Anders on the back in the process. "I knew it! That'll be two sovereigns, Blondie."

"I don't believe it for a second," the mage grumbled, but he counted the coins into Varric's palm all the same. "You've probably eaten her or tossed her to the neighbor's dogs or something."

"You had a wager?" the confused elf demanded of the two men. "About myself and Hawke's cat? Of all the fool nonsense…"

"_Hawke's_ cat?" Anders echoed. "She got that cat for you, as a gift. Something about you needing company in that big empty home you're squatting in."

Fenris shook his head and turned his scowl on Varric. "But you said—"

"Hey, I say a lot of things, elf!" the dwarf cut him off hastily. "Some are completely true, some are less true. You know how it is." Varric the storyteller winked at Fenris so that Anders could not see. "So! We going to play cards, or gossip like fishwives all night?"

They played cards as they always did, and this time Fenris did not lose so badly. He also did not drink so much, and so the walk home in the deep dead of the cool night was pleasant. Or would have been had he not been so busy brooding over Hawke and the cat.

He felt almost…betrayed by Hawke's gift. Not so much the gift itself, but the way she had clearly spoken to other people about it and then used deception to fool him into accepting it. Fenris knew he was not the easiest man to approach, but did she really feel the need to trick him? He admitted to himself that had he not believed the animal was important to Hawke, he would likely not have tolerated as much as he had these past weeks. But it still did not sit right with him, and he felt he had to tell her that regardless of the consequences.

It was not until he walked through the door of the mansion that he stopped turning the conflict over and over in his head. Amell greeted him at the door, a freshly killed rat dangling between her forepaws from her mouth. She promptly dropped the creature and trotted to him, meowing happily as she wove her body between his legs in greeting, purring loudly. Her orange eyes gazed up at him, and she pawed softly at his shin in an obvious plea for attention.

At that moment, as he smiled at the cat, Fenris felt something ease in his chest. This was a good thing. Why complicate it?

"Come on, Amell," he murmured softly as he bent to scratch her chin for a moment. "Finish your dinner and come to bed."

Fenris promised himself that when Hawke returned, he would thank her for the gift.


	13. Moonshine

**Thank you:** To everyone reading, reviewing, favorite...ing? and watching. I love the feedback, I love knowing you're reading my nonsense, and it's only because I'm incredibly lazy that I don't reply to reviews. That doesn't mean they don't make me all warm and tingly. I'm still working on a few more of these, though as I said before, things are slower. Oh! And the person who asked me about Baldur's Gate? Yes! Yes, I do. :)

**A/N:** Kind of a dull, philosophical one. I'm playing a pro-Circle mage Hawke right now and the dynamic really fascinates me. This is very late Act 3, right before the end of all sanity begins. If you love Anders to bits and cannot stand to see him questioned, you will probably hate this story. You're free to disagree and chew me out for it, but just don't read it, get pissy then claim I didn't warn you. Because I did. Twice.

**Description:** Hawke opens up about her fears and hopes as the stability of Kirkwall crumbles.

**Warning:** Language, booze, and _**ANDERS BASHING IMMINENT**_. Okay, it's not really that bad. I'm just terrified of the Anders fans...

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

* * *

**Moonshine**

Fenris heard Hawke's angry voice long before he reached the clinic.

"…so blind! You can't see what's going on right in front of your face, and you want to know the worst part? I think this whole 'Justice makes me do it' bullshit is nothing but an excuse! How convenient to have something like that to hide behind!"

Fenris quickened his step as he neared the clinic doors, but only caught the last half of Anders' quieter reply. "…accuse _me_ of the very same thing? You ungrateful hypocrite! Do you have any idea what I would do with the kind of influence you now have?"

"I shudder to think," Hawke spat with cold conviction. Fenris crossed the room toward the arguing pair, noting that both wore similar expressions of spite and disgust. Hawke glanced at the elf, a flicker of relief passing across her face, then gave the other mage a last dark stare. "You are exactly why the world will never trust mages, why we will never have the freedom you claim they deserve."

Hawke turned away and passed Fenris, mumbling, "Let's go," to the elf as she went. Anders spared him not a glance, but as Fenris and Hawke left the clinic, his voice followed them into the stench of Darktown.

"I promise you, I'll prove you wrong yet, Hawke! I'll make you see!"

Hawke sneered at the empty air in front of her as her strides lengthened. "Why does that sound more like a threat than a promise?" she growled to the elf beside her as they wound through a crowd of Kirkwall's most destitute citizens.

"Probably because it is," Fenris offered dryly. He closed his hand over Hawke's coinpurse when an urchin crept up behind them, glaring as the child scampered off.

Hawke's only response was to sigh and rub her temples with her fingertips, her pace never slowing as they wound through the darkness. She did not stop until they entered the small collection of shacks that made up the Darktown market.

"Tomwise." Hawke forced a wry smile as the lanky elf emerged from the shadows at the back of his ramshackle stall. "Tell me you have what I need, my friend."

"Hawke," the poison dealer said with surprise, giving Fenris a nod in greeting. "You're fast becoming my best customer."

The woman laughed, but it was a short, humorless thing, and shrugged. "We all have vices, right? Even Champions and mages and nobles."

"Especially nobles," Tomwise agreed with a sage nod. "Sure, I have what you're looking for. Give me a moment."

When the smaller elf moved out of earshot, Fenris murmured with curious amusement, "Are you looking to poison someone, Hawke?"

She snorted and gave him a small, enigmatic smile. "Only myself," she answered.

Fenris raised an eyebrow at that answer, but said nothing more as Tomwise reappeared at the counter with a small, plain jug in his hand. Hawke sighed happily as she accepted it from him, then produced what appeared to Fenris to be an exorbitant amount of coin. Judging by Tomwise's expression, the other elf thought the same.

"An investment in my future," Hawke explained with a wink. "Incentive for you to keep well stocked."

Tomwise laughed out loud, the sound strange coming from such a somber elf. "Always a pleasure, Hawke," he said with fond sincerity.

Around the corner and down a narrow, deserted alleyway, Hawke stopped and propped her staff up against the wall before sliding to sit on the filthy ground. Fenris hesitated, unwilling to let his guard down in such a dangerous area, and watched Hawke arrange her robes and settle herself comfortably. The elf jerked forward with a start when Hawke pulled the cork from the jug and brought it toward her lips, stopping only when Fenris shot his hand between her mouth and the opening.

"Are you mad?" he demanded, his irritation growing when Hawke only laughed and shook her head.

"It's moonshine, Fenris," she scoffed. "It's only slightly more poisonous than that wine you're so fond of. It won't kill me. Well, not today anyway."

Fenris had withdrawn his hand, but his frown remained firmly in place as Hawke took a hard swig from the jug. She grimaced and groaned, cringed and shook her head violently before croaking out, "See…no problem."

The elf could smell the powerful alcohol on her breath already, and when Hawke offered him the jug, he only eyed it skeptically. "Aww, come on," she begged him with an edge of impatience. "Brood with me, damn it. You'll get to hear me bitch about Anders. That always makes you happy."

Fenris gave her a dull stare, but after a moment he relented, laying his sword at their feet before sitting at Hawke's side. He stiffened when she scooted closer, her hip and arm pressed against his, but he relaxed into the contact after a moment. When she offered him the moonshine again, Fenris accepted. And immediately wished he had not.

It tasted like liquid death mixed with a healthy dose of acid and piss, so vile and searing that he nearly spat it out before he managed to choke it down. His body revolted against the abomination he had swallowed, and he shuddered and swore under his breath in Tevinter before thrusting the jug at the now laughing Hawke.

"Good stuff, huh?" she taunted, taking another gulp herself. "Trust me, when it kicks in, you'll be thanking me."

"You'd be better off sucking on deathroot," the elf wheezed, wishing he had something, _anything_ to wash his mouth out with at that moment.

"Nah," Hawke dismissed him with a flippant wave, "I'm pretty sure it has deathroot in it, so it's really no difference."

Fenris grunted a noncommittal response and fell silent as the heat burned through the pit of his stomach. As horrible as it was, he did admit that his limbs felt lighter, his body a bit more relaxed than before. When Hawke offered him another drink, he grudgingly accepted it.

"You know," Hawke eventually started after a brief, companionable silence and a few more sips of the liquid fire, "I asked you to meet me down here because he said he needed help. Anders, I mean." The woman dropped her head back against the wall behind her and stared up at the high ceiling above them. "And I wanted to help him, I really did. I know you don't agree with that. It's just…"

"You're starting to see how unstable he really is," Fenris offered after a pause, in the most diplomatic way he could manage. He could not fully hide the rebuke in his voice, but he knew Hawke was already well familiar with his opinion on this particular topic.

"No, it's not really that," she explained with a thoughtful frown. "I mean, he's never been too keen on stability. He leans more toward 'batshit crazy' and 'worryingly obsessed,' if I had to put a label on him. But what he wants isn't such a bad thing. He just wants too much of it, and he wants it _right now_, consequences be damned."

Fenris pondered what he would say next with great care, but the moonshine seemed to make his tongue considerably looser than usual. "Shouldn't you want the same thing?" he prodded harshly. "You _are_ a mage."

Hawke snorted and let her eyes fall shut. "That's what Anders thinks," she stated. "He keeps throwing freedom back in my face, that I'm free and he's 'almost free' and everyone else should be free, too. And I just keep wanting to shake him until his stubborn head wobbles off and he realizes that _we aren't free_." She bitterly scoffed out the phrase and sighed in disgust. "We never will be free, not by Anders' definition. Templars or no templars, Circle or no Circle, it'd make no difference. The danger is still real, still there, we will still be mages, connected to the Fade, and people will never see us as they see regular people."

Fenris stared at the woman pressed against his side for a long moment. Her head was back and her eyes were closed, but there was a pained frown line between her brows that he wanted to smooth away with his thumb. They had discussed mages and templars before, of course, but she had never opened up this much to him. He tried for a moment to imagine what it must be like to feel the pressure of the expectations of so very many people, so many _strangers_, but a suitable parallel escaped him.

"Do _you_ believe the world should see you as the same?" he asked with genuine curiosity.

"No." The word came from Hawke's mouth instantly, like an instinct, though Fenris could see how difficult it was for her to admit when she turned her sad eyes on him. "How can I? It's…it'd be like pretending a rowboat and a Qunari dreadnought are the same because they both float! Mages are not normal people, they cannot be normal people, and Anders? Anders wants the best of both worlds without any sort of accountability, and he truly believes that's for the best! He's lost all perspective. He's nothing but a…a fanatic."

"He's an abomination, Hawke." Fenris knew pointing out the obvious was not necessary, but he had to say it all the same. "He's no different than the dozens of mages we've tried to help over the years who run to demons for aid and turn on us. You were right to call him blind. He will never put anyone ahead of his desires, not you, not even the mages he claims to fight for, as you and I well know." Hawke nodded slowly as they both recalled the day Anders had struck down a young mage in a fit of "justice."

Hawke sighed and looked down at her hands in her lap, twisting the nearly empty jug of moonshine around and around. "Sometimes I wish I could see things the way you do," she told him softly. "So black and white, without all this messy gray muddling the picture. I want to do right by my fellow mages, but…how can I? How can they ask me to defend…_madness_?"

"What's the answer, then?" Fenris asked as gently as he could.

"Answer?" Hawke raised the jug and gave it a little shake. "If I had any answers, my dear elf, I wouldn't need this." She drained the last of the moonshine and tossed the empty vessel aside with a sigh. Fenris, feeling more than a little lightheaded after just two rounds with the alcohol, had no idea how she was still upright and coherent. He wondered just how often she sneaked down here for these little respites that it would leave her so unaffected by this drink, and both concern and anger fisted in his chest at the thought.

She chuckled suddenly and asked, "You want to hear something funny? Anders and other Circle mages, they go on about how the templars watch them and how horrible it is and how they have to measure their every move lest they be accused of possession."

All traces of humor drained from her face as she met Fenris' gaze. "But sometimes, when I was younger, before we left Lothering, I couldn't help but wish that I had a templar to watch over me. That probably sounds crazy even to you. Do you…" her voice broke, fear setting her features in hard lines. "You cannot understand what it's like, knowing that you could be tricked and taken by a demon and forced to…to murder your own family or burn your village to the ground or…or _something_. Who would stop me, I wondered, if I lost myself? Would Carver be strong enough to strike me down? It's…it's a terrifying thought."

Fenris started to say her name, but Hawke cut him off quickly with a brittle laugh. "I'm not trying to dump all over you," she explained with a sincere sidelong glance. "And I don't walk around daydreaming about random possession or anything like that. I just wish I could make them see, make them understand. The Circle doesn't have to be a prison. And the freedom I have isn't free."

"They call themselves slaves," Fenris pointed out. He let his anger escape in his words. "They cry for freedom, but they have no idea what true slavery is. _None_."

"Imagine what they would do with that freedom," Hawke mused with a shake of her head. "Imagine an army of mages like Grace or Tarohne or…Quentin. It's frightening enough imagining Anders taking the lead of a rebellion, but he is far from the worst of them."

"No matter who leads, they would form another Imperium. You know that."

"It would be worse than that," Hawke denied, slumping against him harder as the moonshine seemed to finally catch up with her. "They'd want revenge. They'd want to overthrow the Chantry and murder every templar and topple every king who ever oppressed a mage. They'd never settle for anything less than watching all the lands of Thedas burn."

Fenris considered that quietly for a moment, then chuckled, startling Hawke from her reverie. "And you say I'm dramatic," he teased, watching as she wrinkled her nose at him.

"Oh, fine," she laughed with a rough nudge that rocked Fenris to one side. "Maybe that was a bit over the top. A little."

"Hawke." Fenris did something that he did so rarely that it caused Hawke to draw in a sharp breath through her nose. Gently, and mindful of his sharp gauntlets, he took her hand in his and pressed their palms together. "I wonder what you will do, if things come down to a black and white choice."

Hawke turned his hand over and gently stroked her fingertips over the lines of lyrium on his exposed flesh. "I wonder that, too," she admitted in a small voice. "The Circle here…it's broken. It's a chaotic mess. But, the Circle itself, what it stands for, what it _could_ be, that is the answer."

"I agree." Fenris squeezed her hand for a moment before allowing her to continue her idle tracing. "But you would be hard pressed to find mages who would agree with you."

"Don't I know it. They vilify the templars as a whole thanks to the actions of a few bastards, but they're not all bad." She snorted. "Even if my little spoiled brat brother is one of them. But everything just keeps getting worse and worse."

"Do you truly believe relations between templars and mages can be fixed, after all the damage that's been done?" Fenris asked with a touch of scorn.

"There has to be a solution, Fenris." She gazed at him sadly, and Fenris wondered if she believed her own words. "It doesn't have to be war."

He wanted to press her on the subject, to make her understand that the tension hanging over the city was not going to go away with wishful thinking, to force a better answer from her. But her head bobbed suddenly, and he realized she was falling asleep in that filthy alley in Darktown. And he knew that such questions were only his own insecurities crying out for reassurance.

"I hope you're right, Hawke," he sighed softly. "Now, can you walk, my drunken friend? Or should I carry you home?"

The woman giggled, a sound that forced a smile onto Fenris' face, and staggered ungracefully upright. "Of course I can walk," she chided belligerently. "I do this all the time. I will say, though," she smiled drunkenly at him, but genuine affection shone in her eyes, "it's good to have you at my side."

Fenris tucked an unruly strand of hair behind her ear. "As long as you have need of me, this is where I'll remain. No matter what comes."

Hawke's smile widened, her fingers slipping behind his neck to pull him down for a kiss, but she swayed at the last moment and fell hard against his chest. "Huh," she grunted as she struggled unsuccessfully to steady herself. "Maybe you will have to carry me."

The elf sighed and shook his head. "The things I do for you, mage."


	14. Humiliations Galore

**A/N:** A derpy, parody-ish one with a temperamental Hawke at the helm. This is Act 1, pre-Deep Roads. Figure it's not unrealistic to assume it took a few months to gather all that coin for Bartrand. Thank you, thank you, _thank you!_ for reading and all the lovely reviews.

**Description:** Isabela is plotting with Carver. What's the worst that could happen?

**Warning:** Filthy potty mouth language and implied adult naughty bits.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

* * *

**Humiliations Galore**

Fenris gazed forlornly at the dark bottom of his empty cup. "Gone already," he sighed, tipping the vessel upside down to watch one last droplet of wine splash against the rough tabletop.

Beside him, Hawke snorted in amusement. "The bar's right over there," she pointed out with a nod at the other side of the Hanged Man. "Make Corff give you the good stuff he hides in the floorboards. It's much better than that— Oh, Maker damn you, Varric!" The woman glowered at the smirking dwarf and hurled her hand of cards onto the table as he scooped up his winnings. "You cheating son of a whore!"

"Now, now, my dear Hawke," Varric chided with a smooth grin and wagging finger, "mind how you speak of my mother. And it's only cheating if you catch me." Hawke swore under her breath at the dwarf, drowning her annoyance in the dregs of her pint.

"She's always been a sore loser," Carver informed them all from the other end of the table where he and Isabela had been conspiring quietly for some moments. "She split my lip once when we were young. All because she lost a footrace!"

Fenris chuckled along with the rest of their companions at the image of the two scrapping as children. Hawke scoffed, "Only because you wouldn't stop teasing me! Kept putting your fat mouth right here in my face," she held her palm up nearly pressed to her nose, "and doing that obnoxious donkey laugh of yours."

"I'm only surprised it just happened the one time," Varric admitted, tossing a wink at Hawke.

Shaking his head, Fenris rose to cross the sparsely populated tavern in search of more wine as the muted taunting continued behind him. He had only known this group a few months, perhaps half a year at most, and sometimes the strangeness of it all would catch him up. Having stability and friendship and protection – these things were so foreign still, and yet he found himself grateful for them. This new life was daunting and overwhelming at times, but he could not help but feel like luck or fate or perhaps even the Maker Himself had offered him a respite.

At the bar, Fenris ordered his wine, keeping a fair distance from two drunks who were singing all the wrong words to every bawdy song they could think up. They both smelled as if they had not bathed in years. The rest of the Hanged Man was quiet in comparison to most nights, but that did not stop the elf from keeping a wary eye on the movements of the dozen or so patrons. He was nodding his thanks to Corff when his sharp ears caught the start of a true argument brewing from the general vicinity of Hawke's table.

"Oh, Andraste's tits, Sister!" Carver bellowed loud enough to silence the singing drunks, something between anger and disgust in his tone. "Do you _ever_ stop staring at his arse?"

Fenris' wine cup froze halfway to his lips and he blinked at the far wall a moment before turning to look over his shoulder. Carver was standing at the head of the table, his arms crossed over his chest as he met the slack-jawed stare of his older sister.

Recovering quickly, Hawke demanded, "What in blazes are you on about? And stop talking like Meeran! You sound even dumber than usual!"

"Oh, _I'm_ dumb?" The younger Hawke sneered and shook his head. "Look at yourself! You're like a magpie with a shiny new toy when your pet elf is around!" Carver flung his arm in the direction of the bar.

Both of Fenris' eyebrows shot up toward his hairline as nearly the entire population of the tavern turned their stares on him. The elf was torn between distaste for Carver, amusement at Hawke's horrified expression, and an utter disbelief that this was all really happening. He more than half expected he had dozed off after that third cup of wine and that this was the Fade playing tricks on him.

Hawke sputtered a denial, but her brother cut her off with a loud snort. "You should have seen her a few days ago," he said mostly to the gleefully grinning Rivaini beside him. "A walking corpse _bit _her – actually took a chunk off her arm! And all because she was too busy watching _him_," Carver looked decidedly smug as he bobbed his head in Fenris' direction, "whip his big sword around."

The Hanged Man was silent but for a few snickers, not a one of the patrons even pretending to mind their own business anymore. Hawke appeared to be speechless in her fury, her hands balled into fists at her sides and her jaw working angrily. Fenris sighed around the lip of his cup and was considering going back to his mansion to escape the madness when Merrill suddenly twittered and leaned in toward Varric. "I think they're so cute," she giggled.

Varric laughed heartily at that and Isabela and a few others joined him while Hawke glared daggers at her brother, looking as though she would leap across the table and strangle him at any moment. "If you think they're cute now, Daisy," the dwarf chortled, "you should see what Hawke writes about him in her journal."

Fenris choked on the wine in his mouth and stared at Hawke, who was blushing a furious red and snarling, "Varric!" in a tone he had only heard her use on the battlefield against their foes. The dwarf raised his hands in surrender, but apparently could not stop himself from adding, "Hey, it's juicy stuff, Hawke! That's all I'm saying!"

"It _is not_, you wretched little imp!" Hawke cried, though this only succeeded in causing several more people to laugh aloud. Fenris, for his part, found himself unable to turn away from the scene despite how uncomfortable and _at his expense_ it all was. It was much like stumbling across the aftermath of a brutal crime – he wanted to look away, wanted to unsee it, but simply could not find the willpower to move away.

"Oh," Isabela purred with that dangerous smile that meant she was about to say something worthy of making an old dock whore blush, "it _must_ be juicy. What was it you told me, Merrill?" The pirate batted innocent eyes at the Dalish woman, who was suddenly doing her best impression of a startled deer. "You passed Gamlen's house the other night, and Hawke's window was open, right? And she was positively _moaning_ a certain elf's name…"

Heat crawled up the back of Fenris' neck, embarrassment and shameful curiosity flooded his mind with new and intriguing thoughts. Merrill suddenly became the center of attention as the tavern waited for her confirmation. "Oh," the Dalish elf whimpered, her face scarlet, eyes darting from Hawke to Isabela and back again, "Creators save me." She buried her face in her hands and tried to burrow into Varric's side.

The room erupted with laughter, jeers and catcalls, especially when Hawke finally snapped and launched herself from her seat, over the top of the table toward Isabela. Fenris had no idea the mage could move so impressively fast. Corff hollered something about not breaking anything again as Isabela proceeded to cackle like a fiend and use Carver as a human shield against a furious Hawke. And Carver, the fool that he was, tried to grab and subdue his older sister. Fenris heard the crack of her palm against his cheek even over the uproar.

"Wait, wait!" Isabela cried, still laughing, but holding her hands up toward Hawke in a placating gesture. She was, of course, still hiding behind Carver, who was now scowling and gingerly touching the flaming handprint on the side of his face. "Hawke, just wait! I have a peace offering!"

Hawke stopped the mad dance she and the pirate were doing around Carver and snarled threateningly, "Maker help me, if you offer me sex, Isabela…"

"No, no," the pirate laughed, then paused and tilted her head thoughtfully. "Unless you really want to… I'm joking! So touchy, Hawke! You really do need to get laid. Here."

Isabela reached inside her bodice, causing several people to stretch and strain their heads for a better view – as if that were even necessary. After a brief struggle, the pirate produced a folded piece of paper with a triumphant, "Ah-ha!" and held it out for Hawke over Carver's shoulder.

Hawke glared at Isabela for a moment, then snatched the paper and unfolded it in sharp, jerky movements. The frown that formed on the woman's face doubled Fenris' curiosity, though he still thought it best to remain safely at the bar. When Hawke waved the paper and Fenris caught a glimpse of what was on it, the elf felt the blood drain from his face as his interest was replaced with dread.

"What in the Void is _this_, Isabela?" Hawke demanded. "You're drawing erotic pictures of me now? Why am I even surprised?"

Fenris swallowed the last of his wine in one go, his eyes darting toward the door, but he had already seen Isabela smirking in his direction and knew it was too late to leave without making a scene. A _bigger_ scene. "_I_ didn't draw it, Hawke," the pirate drawled. "I…found it, you might say. In an unlocked mansion in Hightown."

Hawke's angry expression melted into confusion and surprise. She looked down at the sketch in her hand, then slowly, _so_ slowly turned her face to meet Fenris' eyes. Her expression was inscrutable, calculating, intense, and Fenris only hoped his face betrayed as little as hers did. Underneath the calm, he felt exposed and vulnerable and _ready to kill Isabela_.

It was not an erotic picture, Fenris wanted to explain, but he feared her response and clamped down on his tongue. He could understand why she would see it that way, especially when it had come from someone like Isabela, but the sketch he had made of her by firelight only a handful of weeks earlier had nothing to do with lust. There had been a moment, an intense, wild moment in the heat of battle, when he realized he could trust her, when he became sure that she was nothing like Danarius, when he _knew_ she was something more, something _better_. The image of her then, defiant and fierce and filled with righteous fury, had haunted him until he had given in and put it on paper as best he was able.

"I…see," Hawke murmured carefully, eyes still on the elf across the room. She glanced at Isabela and gave a short nod, then abruptly swept her cloak off the bench and headed for the door.

"That's it?" Carver cried. "You're not even going to say sorry for slapping half my brains out?"

"Half of nothing makes little difference," Hawke snorted, sending a scathing glance around the Hanged Man. "I hope you all enjoyed the show. You should bloody well be paying us for such scandalous entertainment."

Hawke vanished out the door as the room filled with chuckles and renewed gossip, and Fenris scowled when he noticed that people were staring at him. Corff asked him if he needed another round, but Fenris shook his head, wanting nothing but to flee this spectacle and allow the darkness of his mansion to swallow him up. Tomorrow he would deal with Isabela and her apparent burglary of his home.

"Sleep well, Fenris!" Isabela called in a mocking singsong as he reached the door. Fenris paused and met the Rivaini's eyes for a moment. She plastered on an infuriating smile and winked at him, adding a haughty, "You're welcome, by the way." Struggling with the temptation to throttle the irritating woman, Fenris reigned in his temper and slipped out into the dark streets of Lowtown.

The elf took a deep breath of the cool night air, then startled when a shadow shifted and moved near him. His hands flexed as his brands blazed to life, casting everything nearby in an eerie blue glow. Hawke raised an eyebrow at the display, clearly unfazed, and Fenris relaxed again with a muttered curse.

The silence that loomed over them in the dim lantern light was awkward and strained. Fenris could only see half of Hawke's face, but she appeared to be eyeing him, searching for something in his expression, though he doubted she could see any better than he could. It was a strange and ridiculous standoff, and he could not decide whether they both stayed silent out of stubbornness or simply because neither of them knew what to say.

Finally, Hawke held up the drawing and asked pointedly, "Did you make this?"

Fenris tilted his head, eyes narrowed, and responded, "Do you really stare at my backside and write about me in your journal?" A dark little voice inside him was _screaming_ for him to ask about her moaning his name in the dead of night, but he doubted she would react well to that and he was not entirely sure he was ready to know the answer.

"So, that's how it's going to be then?" Hawke murmured, her eyes narrowed as well. They both stayed that way for a long moment, staring and taking the measure of each other defiantly. Hawke laughed suddenly, a sharp sound, but a smile sparkled in her eyes. "I'll get the truth from you, Fenris. Just wait. And I'm keeping the picture."

The elf allowed a faint smirk to pull at his mouth. "May I walk you home, Hawke?" he offered. He relished the surprise that crossed her face at the abrupt request.

"I…would like that," she answered slowly. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." Fenris strode in the direction of Gamlen's house and called over his shoulder at the woman. "Allow me to walk ahead so you can enjoy the view, Hawke. That should give you something worthwhile to add to your journal."

The woman barked out a startled laugh, grumbling under her breath, "Arrogant bastard elf… I'm going to _kill_ Isabela…"

Chuckling to himself, Fenris decided that he would leave the pirate's punishment in Hawke's hands. It seemed to him that Isabela may have done them a favor after all.


	15. The Maker's Gifts

**A/N**: WOooOoow, you guys made me all bubbly inside with all the happy happy joy joy from the last story. Almost makes me feel bad about all the depressing bits I've been work on. Okay, not really, but I'm glad you enjoyed the silly romp. :3 Thank you for reading/reviewing/and so on. This is a bit boring perhaps, but I just adore the friendship these two fellows form. This is Act 3, after Danarius' death and Hawke's "You're not alone" line but before Fenris and Hawke are fully reconciled.

**Description:** Fenris gets relationship advice from Sebastian.

**Warning:** Uhhhh...for...being inside the Chantry? There's not even a hint of adult stuff in this one. I blame Sebastian.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

* * *

**The Maker's Gifts**

The song filled the building with its lovely, lulling melody, drifting and resonating off the high ceilings of the Chantry. Sunlight filtered through the high windows, warming his leathers and driving away the morning chill that lingered in the room. Fenris closed his eyes, leaned back in the pew and allowed the words to fill his mind and drive out all distractions and worries. Even if he was not the most faithful of the Maker's children, the elf found a peace and serenity here that simply could not be found elsewhere.

He never expected to feel welcome in this place, but time and friendship had changed much. It was remarkable what such bonds could accomplish, how a personal relationship could free a man from his false perceptions and fears, even while adding the chains of attachment and fondness. Fenris had scarcely a handful of people he truly trusted, but over these last seven years, they had become…family. It was a concept he could only recall in vague, shadowed memories, echoes of a time before the lyrium seared his flesh, and it was something he thought he would never again need or want, but there it was.

The soft fall of approaching footsteps disturbed his reverie, but he remained exactly where he was as the pew trembled and someone sat down beside him. Fenris recognized the man – he carried with him the unique aroma of whatever oil it was he used to clean his grandfather's bow – long before Sebastian's lilting voice broke the silence.

"A lovely place for a nap, Fenris," the prince mused quietly, "though honestly I think I prefer the other side of the room at this time of day."

Fenris allowed one corner of his mouth to curve upward. "You speak from experience, I take it."

Sebastian chuckled, prompting someone behind them to shush him. Lowering his voice to a whisper, the human answered, "Dozing off in less than ideal places is one of the few hazards of being an initiate. But I believe Andraste forgives me for such flaws."

The elf huffed out a quiet laugh and cracked one eye open to study the man beside him. Sebastian reclined against the back of the pew in much the same position as Fenris himself, his posture casual and his hands folded over the flat of his stomach. Sebastian watched the Mother leading the Chant for a long moment, then glanced at Fenris.

"What brings you here today, my friend?" he asked.

Fenris shrugged and turned his attention to the worshipers below. "Do I need a reason to seek a moment of peace?"

"No," Sebastian granted, "and I won't press you if you're not willing to speak what's on your mind. I just wondered if you might be avoiding a certain Champion."

Shifting in his seat, Fenris struggled to keep his tone neutral, but the tension he had come here to shed was reasserting itself across the line of his shoulders. "What would make you think that?"

"Oh, I don't know," the prince replied with false innocence. "A simple guess? Or perhaps it has something to do with the rather…_strained_ conversation I had with Hawke yesterday when she came here demanding to know if you were hiding from her."

Fenris breathed a loud, petulant sigh, prompting another irritated hiss from the parishioner seated behind them. "Tell me she didn't make a scene."

Laughter in his voice, Sebastian answered, "Oh, but she did. She was even using her 'I own this place and everyone in it' walk when she came in the doors. Most intimidating."

Shaking his head, Fenris looked askance of the human and murmured, "I apologize, Sebastian. I shouldn't put you in the middle of these…things."

"You don't," he assured Fenris. "If anything, Hawke is the one dragging me into your private affairs, but either way, I hardly mind. That is what friends are for, isn't it?"

"I…suppose," Fenris shrugged with another sigh.

A long silence between the men followed, filled with the soft waves of the Chant wafting up to them, but Fenris had lost the thread of calm he usually found here. He fidgeted in his seat, frowning off into empty air and chiding himself for avoiding Hawke for too many weeks. Of course she would not sit idly and wait for him to come to her, and he could not blame her for her impatience. Even he was at the end of his patience with himself.

"You know," Sebastian mused as he watched a few people trickle in through the entry hall, "she is an incredible woman. Powerful, courageous, dangerous. Watching her fight is almost…poetic. The way she moves and speaks, and Maker's breath, her _eyes_…"

Dark jealousy bled through his thoughts as the praise continued, and Fenris had not even realized his hands were clenched into painful fists until Sebastian drifted off. A sidelong glance at the prince revealed a knowing look spread across his face.

"Well, that was rather telling," the human said during a silent moment in the Chant, finally driving the person in the row behind them to huff and stomp away to another part of the Chantry. "At least now I don't need to ask if you love her."

"It's complicated," Fenris managed with a vague wave of his hand.

"Of course it is," Sebastian nodded. "Neither you nor Hawke were made for simplicity."

Fenris frowned and tilted his head to one side before letting out a quiet snort. "I don't know if that's a compliment or a criticism."

Sebastian's only answer to that was a small, wry smile. "Did you know," he told the elf after a beat, "she's been approached by _seven_ noblemen in the last two weeks?"

"Why?" Fenris heard himself ask before he had even absorbed the information. As soon as it hit him, the only possible real reason for so many men to seek her attention, the elf turned a sharp frown on the man beside him.

"Don't tell me you're surprised, my friend," Sebastian pressed with a frown. "She is an invaluable prize to these nobles."

"She is not some trinket to be won," Fenris seethed through clenched teeth, adding a few choice words in his native tongue. A young initiate sitting two rows in front of him turned a frightful, wide-eyed stare back at him. Fenris allowed his snarl to melt away, but his fury simmered hot and restless in his chest. He was tempted to ask his companion for the names of these noble bastards, but doubted the prince would provide them.

"Of course she's no object," Sebastian agreed, leaning in toward Fenris to keep is voice low. "You know that, and I know that, and of course Hawke knows not a one of these strutting roosters is worth a moment of her time, but still…"

Fenris searched the other man's face for answers. "What is it? What do you know?"

Sebastian shrugged. "She's under a lot of pressure, and keeping these fools at bay is just another mess she's forced to deal with. I can't help but think how it would ease the burden if she had someone at her side who could give her suitors a reason to leave her be."

"So I should follow her around like a dog," Fenris snapped, "growling at every man who looks at her? I'd think her mabari could accomplish that well enough."

"That's not what I meant," Sebastian denied with a placating gesture, though he was clearly choking down laughter. "When I say 'at her side,' I mean it as less literal and more figurative. If perchance Hawke had a menacing, violent lover who had the means to tear a man's beating heart from his chest, I imaging many of her troubles would resolve themselves rather quickly."

Fenris mulled those words over for a long moment, trying to find some comfort in them. "So…you're saying that I should attempt to…uncomplicate my relationship with Hawke because my presence will intimidate her suitors?" The elf turned a skeptical stare on Sebastian. "I suppose it's not the worst advice you could have offered, but it isn't exactly inspirational."

Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, but stopped and tilted his head to one side as if he were replaying his words again in his mind. The Chant had ended and many of the patrons were making their way to the doors, including a number of people who were sending annoyed glances in the direction of the two men.

After a moment, Sebastian gave a bemused, "Huh," and nodded slowly. "Well," he shrugged with a sheepish smile, "that's what you get when you look for romantic advice from a Chantry brother."

Fenris gave a short laugh, but Sebastian shot to his feet then as the Grand Cleric swept around a pillar and approached. "Your Grace," Sebastian greeted the stoic woman with some hint of chagrin and surprise in his voice.

"Ah, so you are the lads causing a ruckus," Elthina gently chided, her calm gaze drifting from man to elf and back again. "I wondered why there were so many sitting at my right hand and so few at my left this morning."

"Forgive us, Your Grace." Sebastian bowed his head respectfully and gestured toward Fenris, who was still sitting at the pew. "I wished only to bring comfort to a friend, but I should have taken our discussion to a more appropriate setting."

"Worry not, Sebastian," the Grand Cleric soothed with a chuckle. Her eyes fixed on Fenris. "You are the one the Champion favors, are you not?"

Startled by the phrase, Fenris found himself momentarily at a loss for words. To cover for his silence, the elf stood slowly and retrieved his sword from where it had been propped beside him. "I suppose you could say that," he answered with deliberate caution.

Elthina nodded thoughtfully. "She is a fine woman. Kirkwall would be hard pressed to find anyone better suited for the role of Champion." Her smile was kind, but twisted with a rueful amusement when she glanced at Sebastian. "Even if she does interrupt prayers with her demands."

"I apologize for that," Fenris cut in before Sebastian could speak. "I was informed that she came here seeking me, and it was I who allowed it to happen."

"It is understandable, perhaps," the Grand Cleric reflected. "She is an intimidating woman, one who is difficult to gauge, difficult to approach."

"It isn't that," Fenris found himself telling her, almost against his will. "Hawke doesn't frighten me. It's…it's just…"

"He's afraid of himself, Your Grace," Sebastian provided, purposely avoiding the scowl Fenris shot his direction.

"Ah, an internal struggle." Elthina's eyes were filled with understanding and not a shred of pity, and Fenris felt his respect for the woman grow in that moment. "They always prove to be the most difficult beasts to slay. I am certain I could not offer better than whatever counsel Sebastian has already provided."

The prince rubbed the back of his neck and gave an awkward chuckle. "Yes, well…I fear my ability to advise the proper course isn't as strong in some areas as it is in others, Your Grace."

The woman shook her head in amusement at his words, then turned her attention to Fenris again. "Then perhaps it would not be out of place for me to offer this. If you have no desire for her wealth or her fame or the power that she surely now has, and if you truly do not fear her, then you are the only man in Kirkwall and beyond who does not. You can offer her what no one else can." The Grand Cleric started to turn away, adding softly over her shoulder, "It is never wise to squander the Maker's gifts, child."

Fenris stared at the woman's back as she crossed the upper floor toward the stairs. "A gift," he murmured to himself. It felt strange that he had never thought about her that way before.

Sebastian was watching him closely, arms crossed over his chest, when Fenris shook himself from his thoughts. "She always knows just what to say," the prince observed with a small smile.

"That explains why she's the Grand Cleric," Fenris droned in reply as he stepped away from the pews and made his way toward the Chantry doors. Sebastian fell into step beside him, and the elf could not resist adding, "You should take notes, just in case you ever need to advise anyone in matters of the heart again."

Sebastian snorted out a laugh. "Oh, now you're just being cruel. Will I see you at the Hanged Man tonight?"

Fenris paused, his hand on the great handle of the carved door. "No," he decided, "I imagine I'll be unavailable this evening. Send my apologies to Varric. And," he allowed a brief smile, "send him Hawke's as well."


	16. Filling the Void

**A/N:** An angsty one, but it has Jethann in it, so how bad could it be? (Let me tell ya, though, it's not easy to write him angry.) Timeframe is in the dead space between Acts 2 and 3. Much thanks for reading!

**Description:** Hawke develops a nasty new habit, one Fenris does not approve of in the least.

**Warning:** Whores, implied nudity, and Jethann-uendo. Maker, I love that elf.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

* * *

**Filling the Void**

Fenris stared at the door of the Blooming Rose. He could not remember how he had gotten here, could not recall the route he had taken from the Hanged Man to this vile place, and had no plans made other than the vague sense of _get here now _and_ stop this_. Isabela's casual, taunting words echoed in his head, over and over like the tolling of a great bell.

_Hawke? She's at the Rose, of course. She's there almost every night. I tell you, that girl is insatiable…_

A sharp breeze tossed one of the establishment's bawdy banners against the wall with a loud snap, breaking Fenris' looping thoughts. One of the Rose's patrons stumbled out into the street reeking of sex and cheap Orlesian perfume. He careened into Fenris and swore under his breath.

"Outta my way, filthy knife-eared bugger!" the bloated man snarled before staggering away. On any other day, Fenris would have moved aside and let the man fall on his face, or been offended by the idiot's words, or felt the urge to intimidate the man until he pissed his pants in fear. But Fenris had no room in his thoughts for anything but Hawke being in this disgusting place filled with people just like that depraved, wretched man, giving herself over to diseased whores.

He should not care, he told himself. He should not have come here. Leaving now would be the correct course of action. It was what he did best, was it not? Walking away? Fleeing when the truth was too difficult to bear? Hiding even when his mouth spewed lies that he would hide from nothing and no one?

It had been his choice to leave her, his decision to make her hate him and drive her away, so why, _why_ was he here now? Was jealousy his only cause? All that could come from this was more anguish, more heartache and more bitterness. As if either of them had room for more of any of that in their lives.

This was a mistake.

But leaving that first time had also been a mistake. If he was already on the road of regrets, he decided he might as well stay the course.

It was hot inside the whorehouse, always stifling and damp and oppressive. Fenris had no chance of staying inconspicuous, but he ignored the stares and occasional leers sent his direction and moved through the crowds toward the Madam at the bar. The old woman turned her painted face to him as he approached, her eyes raking over him from the tips of his toes to the top of his head.

"Ain't I seen you before?" she demanded when he was within earshot. "If you're here about a job, love, you'll have to talk to Harlan. He's got the final say so."

Fenris tightened his jaw and dug his gauntlet-clad fingertips into his thigh to keep his temper in check. "I am not here about employment," he managed in a frosty but mostly civil tone.

Like carrion crows to a fresh corpse, two heavily perfumed women swept in on Fenris from the left and right. "Looking for some fun, then?" the human whore purred, licking her lips as she leaned in toward him to show off her ample but strangled cleavage. "Oh, I'd do this one for a discount, Madam Lusine. Such a pretty little pet…"

"I don't know," said the other woman, a fragile elf with impossibly pale skin. She did not smile like the other whore, and the cold, detached look in her eyes sent a chill of disquiet down Fenris' spine. "He looks dangerous to me. Enjoy a bit of pain with your pleasure do you, lethallin?"

Making no effort to hide his disgust, Fenris sneered, "I am _not_ here for companionship either. I'm looking for someone. A…patron, if you will."

The whores exchanged a glance and melted away into a group of laughing people, no doubt seeking better profit, and the Madam's stare turned sharp. "Are you now? It's not in my best interest to let just any random sod know the business of our clients. What exactly is it you want?"

"I'm looking for Hawke," he answered plainly.

"The Champion?" Her shrewd eyes searched his face. "Aye, that's where I know you from. Seen you in here with her before." The Madam relaxed a touch and shrugged, "Sure, she's here, that ain't no big secret. But she's got no wish to be bothered while she's with Jethann. You'll just have to wait."

Fenris tried to remember where he had heard that name before, but the memory escaped him. Taking a step closer to the woman, the elf explained in a low, predatory tone, "It is vital that I speak with her."

The Madam held her ground and glared up at him. "Well, that's just too bad, ain't it? If it was urgent enough, they'd have sent someone other than _you_ to claim her." She dismissed him with a wave. "I suggest you leave or be escorted out, serah."

Frustrated but thwarted, Fenris growled out a string of unflattering words in the old woman's direction as he spun away and stalked toward the door. He did not leave, however, but instead picked his way from group to group toward one of the many side rooms on the first floor. Fenris had no idea what exactly he planned to do, but he could not go now, not when he was already committed to his course. But neither could he go door to door hoping he would stumble across Hawke before the guards confronted him.

Cold fingers on his arm brought Fenris to a dead halt, his brands humming with just the faintest charge as he spun to face the person who dared touch him. The elven whore with dead eyes stared at him passively, her hand still resting comfortably in the crook of his elbow. "Dangerous indeed," she softly intoned as the blue light faded from his markings.

"What do you want?" Fenris growled, struggling to hide his discomfort. Something about this woman terrified him, despite the obvious fact that he could snap her in half with one hand, and his skin crawled under the weight of her touch.

The whore leaned in close and pulled the reluctant former slave down toward her, warm breath fanning against his neck as her lips came to hover over his ear. "Up the stairs," she whispered, "turn left, last door on the right."

Surprised, Fenris pulled back to study her still emotionless face. The elven whore gave his arm a faint squeeze before releasing him, adding a gentle, "She deserves better."

He watched the fragile creature vanish through a doorway before shaking off his confusion and working his way toward the stairs. Now that he was nearly to Hawke, or at least where he believed he would find her, Fenris felt his resolve falter yet again. What would he say to her? What exactly was he trying to do? Worst of all, what if he found her tangled in the heat of passion with this whore of hers? His anger seethed at the very idea – would he be able to control himself? Did he even _want _to control himself?

His thoughts were no clearer by the time he found the door the woman had directed him to. Leaning his ear to the wood, Fenris could hear no movement inside, something that brought him both relief and frustration. He debated with himself for a long, tense moment, and finally knocked on the door.

The seconds passed in a painfully slow trickle, and Fenris found himself counting the heartbeats thumping in his ears. A stir of sound inside the room had him stepping back a pace, his hands fisted and raised as if preparing for battle. Which, in a way, he was. Candlelight spilled out into the dim hallway as the door creaked open.

A slim male elf stood silhouetted in the narrow gap, curiosity bright in his startling blue eyes as he clutched a loose robe around his obviously nude body. He gave Fenris an intrigued once over, a smirk curving his lips, and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe. With a playful smile, the whore purred, "Well, well…what can I do for you, sweetheart?"

Fenris finally recalled where he had heard the name Jethann before, and his thoughts went wild. Hawke had known this elf for years. How long had she been coming to see him? Had she been a patron here for that long? Did she have _feelings_ for this creature who traded his body for coin?

What in the Maker's name was he thinking coming here?

Jethann leaned through the opening and looked Fenris in the eye. Still wearing a wide, knowing grin, the whore murmured, "Oh, speechless in my presence? I get that a lot. Don't you worry, big boy, I don't bite." He chuckled. "Not unless you pay extra."

Fenris retreated a step with a firm shake of his head and opened his mouth to speak, but the other elf continued his musings. "I don't usually go for other elves, you know. Not enough meat on those bones. Not _solid_ enough for me. Especially the boys, they're not usually…" he licked his lips and let his eyes drift to Fenris' crotch, "_thick_ enough for my tastes. But you…mmm, I'd give you a chance to prove me wrong anytime.

"Unfortunately," Jethann sighed as he finally stopped undressing Fenris with his gaze, "I'm unavailable for the rest of the night. I'd invite you to join – the more the merrier, I always say – but my client isn't the most adventurous type." He stuck his lip out in a pout and gazed at Fenris with those impossible eyes. "A pity because this girl could take wild and depraved to new heights if she'd just open up a little, you know what I mean?"

"I am not here to hire you!" Fenris finally snarled out, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of a guard at the head of the stairs. Fenris moved in closer to the whore and tried to block out the scent of pipe smoke and oils on the other elf's flesh while he added in a softer tone. "I'm here to see Hawke."

The coyness bled out of Jethann's expression, blue eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. Fenris had the impression that the whore was about to slam the door in his face, and so he jerked forward, shoving the door open and the smaller elf aside as he surged into the room. He saw her immediately, Hawke, curled on the bed in a tangle of sheets, naked and unmoving. Fenris crossed the room in two long strides, gently pushed the hair back from the woman's face and watched her drawing in slow, deep breaths. She did not so much as twitch when he said her name several times.

"She drank herself into the Fade," Jethann explained with a roll of his eyes when Fenris spun on him with a snarled accusation. The whore softly closed the door behind him and leaned back against it with his arms crossed over his chest. His robe had fallen open and Fenris averted his eyes with a scowl.

"She does it all the time," the ginger elf continued with a flippant shrug. "She shows up, she talks, she drinks, she passes out. Well," he smirked, "she does other things occasionally. And so do I, of course. Not as often as I'd like, but I don't get paid to complain. I'm only surprised she hasn't developed a higher tolerance for wine by now. Girl has _issues_, but if you're her friend, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that."

Fenris gazed down at the sleeping woman, his heart aching in his chest. Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall, the woman who had taken down the Arishok in single combat and saved this entire city from destruction, was forced to confide her sorrows to a _whore_? Did she truly trust no one else?

Jethann eyed him thoughtfully for a moment then crossed the room to sit in an overstuffed chair, securing his robe properly as he went. "You're not the one who ran off to be a Warden, are you? She never gives me details, the cruel woman."

"No," Fenris answered softly, his eyes still on Hawke's face. "That was her brother. I'm…" the former slave sighed, "I'm the one who left her even when she begged me to stay."

Jethann gasped, and Fenris turned as he heard the other elf stand and approach him, but never in his life could Fenris have imagined the small, rather ridiculous whore would raise his hand against him. The impact of Jethann's open palm against Fenris cheek sent him stumbling back a step in surprise more than pain, and his lyrium markings flared to life on reflex. The blue-eyed elf seemed utterly undisturbed by this as he hissed at Fenris to get out, then turned his back and stuck his nose in the air with an indignant, "Hmph!"

Fenris was too stunned to feel much anger over the display, and even when he did, it was quickly consumed by guilt as the truth became clear. "I see she told you of me."

"Oh, you're a smart one, aren't you?" the whore snapped sarcastically over his shoulder. He then proceeded to rant mostly to himself, his back still facing Fenris. "The nerve of some people! Thinking you can just show up whenever you want. Ugh, pig! She's better off drunk in a ditch than with a user like you!"

Fenris tried to cling to anger, to find the willpower to resent the fool whore's biting words, but the emptiness in his chest rang with the brutal honesty of Jethann's accusations. "Maybe she is better off," Fenris admitted, "but she shouldn't be here either."

"Who are you to decide that?" Jethann spun on Fenris, one delicate finger wagging in his face as the whore scolded. "You think she's your property? She's a grown woman who can do whatever she damned well pleases with anyone she wants! So you can just take your misplaced jealousy and shove it, you arrogant little bastard!"

"She's better than this," Fenris growled, gesturing toward the bed and leaning over the smaller elf with a sneer. "Even you must see that."

"Oh, must I? Or maybe I should just take your word on that? Because you _know_ so much?" Undisturbed by Fenris' attempt to intimidate him, Jethann shook his head and eyed the warrior in disgust. "She didn't deserve you, but she's too good for me, right? I hate to break it to you, honey, but I've never walked out on her after sex. You think you know her so well, but when was the last time you held her while she cried herself sick? I bet you—"

Hawke groaned then and stirred, drawing the two elves to step away from each other and watch her blink sleepily at them. "Jethann," she croaked, then her bleary gaze shifted and she frowned, "…Fenris? I…I must be dreaming."

Jethann snorted and planted his hands on his hips. "I wish. I'd just love to wake up right about now and let you spank this dream right out of me. I'm going to get the guards, my dear sweet Champion, because I've had all I can take of this dirty trash stinking up my room."

Hawke stared after the ginger elf, but said nothing to stop him. Realizing that Fenris was indeed standing beside the bed she often shared with a whore seemed to sober the woman rather quickly. She scrambled to pull the sheets over her, though nothing particularly interesting had been in view to begin with, then sat bolt upright, running one hand rapidly through the mess mass of her hair.

"What in the Void are you doing here, Fenris?" she demanded breathlessly, her eyes darting from him several times as waves of fear and shame and hurt took their turns washing across her face. "How did you even…?"

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" Fenris asked quietly, but he could not stop the anger from leaking into his voice. He curled his hands into fists and struggled for control over his emotions. "How can you…_cheapen_ yourself with—"

"How dare you," Hawke hissed with a wild shake of her head. "You have no right!"

Fenris stalked the breadth of the room, his self-control at its limits. "How deep are you willing to bury yourself, Hawke? Varric tells me he hasn't seen you lift a weapon in months. Have you forgotten who you are? Are you truly willing to trade it all away for…" he gestured around the room in exasperation, "_this_?"

"Don't pretend you care!" Hawke cried, and Fenris was forced to dodge a small cushion she hurled at him. "Who do you think you are, to come into _my_ life and tell me how to live? You had your chance! Your opinion is as worthless as your promises!"

The elf lunged toward the bed, unsure whether he meant to shake her or kiss her or carry her out of here kicking and screaming, but he stopped himself when several armed guards entered the room, tailed by a decidedly smug looking Jethann. Fenris turned cold eyes on Hawke, hating the pain and defiance written across her face.

"You deserve better, Hawke," Fenris said softly. "Better than anything I could offer you. And certainly better than anything you will find here."

Turning away before she could answer, Fenris moved toward the door, snarling at the guards, "Get out of my way." To his relief, the men stepped aside, though they followed him to the door and watched him stalk away into the dark night of Hightown.

Fenris did not sleep well once he had reached the comfort of his mansion. Strange and twisted images danced behind his lids each time he dozed, distorted pictures of Hawke dying in a gutter somewhere or of her glistening body entwined with that absurd whore. When dawn arrived, Fenris was standing at the window in his armor, debating whether or not he should accept the contract he had been putting off that would take him from the city for several weeks. He had just decided that this was probably the best for everyone when he heard footsteps on the stairs to his room.

Hawke looked as exhausted as he felt, dark circles filling the hollows of her eyes, but she was dressed in full armor with her weapon slung across her back. The same defiance he had seen the night before lingered in her expression, but there was something else there as well. Something like understanding or determination or some nameless mix of the two.

"Some raiders have been hitting Darktown pretty hard," she said without preamble. "Varric and I are off to teach them some manners. Interested?"

Fenris reached for his sword and nodded, hiding the sudden surge of relief and _hope_ that flared in his chest. "Always," he assured her as they left the mansion side by side.


	17. Sharp, Desperate Breaths

**FYI:** The issues that [this idiot website] was having last night appear to have been resolved, so if you couldn't view the last chapter because of an error, it's up and running now for your viewing pleasure.

**A/N:** This one is smut, and it's got more than a few morbid undertones. I have kind of a warped sense of humor, and battlefield sex isn't nearly as sexy as some might think, so...well, you've been warned. I'm fascinated with this Hawke - she's someone who can deal with the physical aspect of a relationship, but she's just as freaked out by emotional entanglements as Fenris is. Scares her to death that she might _need_ him. Timeframe is the dead years between Acts 2 and 3.

**Description:** A loss of control leads to a poor choice, but not all mistakes have dire consequences.

**Warning: **Sexual content, blood and dark humor.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

* * *

**Sharp, Desperate Breaths**

This was wrong, he told himself as his lips found hers, hard and hot and refusing to surrender even when his breath ran out and his lungs screamed for air. This would make everything worse, shatter the trust that had been rebuilt and send the ashes of whatever it was they were now scattering on the wind.

But his hands were in her hair then, pinning her face against his with ruthless abandon, and her fingers were clutched tight against his breastplate, not to push him away but to drag him nearer. And suddenly being right or wrong no longer mattered.

Hawke had nearly died here in this cooling puddle of her own blood, her body broken and lifeless on the uncaring stone. Fenris had watched, helpless and terrified and impatient as Anders hovered over her. She _was not_ _breathing_, her face the color of ash, her gruesome wounds refusing to bind even as the healing glow surrounded her over and over again.

Then she had gasped and arched her back and writhed on the floor of that Maker damned cavern, and Fenris' knees had nearly collapsed in relief. And on her lips was not Anders' name, not the name of the man who had pulled her from the brink of the Void, but Fenris' name, a desperate, half-screamed plea that resonated off the walls. When she reached for him, frantic to touch, to feel, to _know_, Fenris could not have stopped himself from falling beside her and dragging her gore-slicked body against his even if Andraste herself had commanded him away.

Hawke's tongue trust against his lips, a trembling whimper rising from her throat and tingling the roof of his mouth, and he tasted coppery blood from a split lip – his or hers, he could not tell. Any semblance of control spun away and fled, leaving only instinct and naked _want_ screaming its demands through every part of him. Ending this now was not an option, not even when Merrill exclaimed in surprise and Isabela cooed her approval and Anders hissed out a spiteful rebuke.

Hawke's hands were on his belt, yanking hard enough to throw him off balance and send him careening to one side. Somehow he ended up flat on his back, and Hawke followed right through with the move, straddling him with her thighs, seeking his mouth again and again with sharp, biting kisses as she tore at his armor. Fenris was only vaguely aware of Varric herding the others away from them, and he hoped he would remember to thank the dwarf later, if only for the extra embarrassment he had saved them from.

His belt fell away at his sides with a clang of metal against rock, and Hawke's hands, freezing cold and shaking from blood loss, shoved his leather jerkin as high as his breastplate would allow. He had no idea how he managed it with Hawke writhing above him and gasping into his equally eager mouth, but somehow Fenris freed one hand from the prison of its gauntlet, sending the wretched piece of metal skittering across the ground away from them. His bare palm cupped her breast through the battered padding she still wore, possessive and kneading as Hawke bucked and moaned a string of curses and broken pleas into the darkness.

Groping blindly, she found the knife he kept on his belt and cut the ties of his leggings even as Fenris took hold of a large tear in her padding with both hands and ripped it clean in half. His fingers slipped beneath the bottom of her breast binding, pinching her hard nipple and making her cry out. The melt-shod fingertips of his opposite hand scrabbled in vain to free her from the bottom half of her armor. His effort were forestalled when Hawke's hand slipped inside his leggings and grasped his rigid length, pull and pumping with a painful grip that only made him groan and thrust against her harder.

It was too much and not enough and _impossible_ to get from he wanted like this, so Fenris twisted his hips and flipped Hawke beneath him in one sharp, hard move that knocked the breath out of her. Even as she gasped in pain and gritted her teeth, Hawke struggled to help him wrestle her lower body free of the spiteful leather than kept her heat hidden from him. Her hips slipped free, smallclothes and all dragged down her thighs and off her knees. She wriggled and pried the boot from one foot with the help of the other boot and managed to wrench the leg out of the mess of leather and cloth.

Seeing the apex of her sex squirming beneath him in her struggles sent all remnants of patience spiraling out of Fenris' mind. Her dragged her hips closer to his, freeing himself fully from his damaged leggings with one fumbling hand to thrust his aching hardness wildly against her core. It was an imperfect fit at first, armor and loose belts thwarting their attempts to find a rhythm, but then _there_ it was – perfect and slick and like finding a missing piece of himself all over again.

Fenris impaled himself within her in long, hard thrusts, content to watch her filthy but glorious body bow and flex in the throes of base passion, drunk on the knowledge that he had driven her to this frenzied state. Hawke's fingernails scratched furrows into his biceps, her eyes glittering up at him as she breathlessly begged him not to stop. The bottom curve of one breast had slipped free of its binding, and Fenris dipped forward to taste the salty tang of her skin, biting and suckling at the tender flesh, _marking_ her.

Hawke clamped around him in a throbbing rush of heat, thighs tight around his hips as her fingers delved into his hair and dug into his scalp with enough force to surely leave bloody, crescent-shaped marks. Fenris lost himself in her cries, his movements wild and instinctual and driving him hard toward his own release. Her name tore from his lips as the end rushed down upon him, his mouth buried against the sweaty hair sticking to her neck.

Awareness was slow to return. Discomfort was the first thing to break through the haze that wrapped itself around Fenris' thoughts. His arms shook violently as he struggled to keep from crushing the panting woman beneath him, and his knees were screaming in protest where they were pressed against sharp stone. An idle thought drifted through his mind that Hawke must be hurting far more than he was. And that was when the truth of what he had just done crashed into him.

Pulling back, Fenris met Hawke's eyes. Her face was flushed and her expression was soft with languid satisfaction. "Hmm," she murmured in a rough voice, "if this is how you're going to react, I should almost die more often."

She winced when she tried to shift her weight, and the sudden realization that his body was still joined with hers sent Fenris surging back and away from her. He swore under his breath as he stumbled to his feet and turned away from the sight of the mostly naked woman, struggling to make sense of the mess that was his armor.

"Fenris," Hawke said softly, prompting a flood of apologies to fall from the elf's lips, though he could not bring himself to meet her eyes.

"I…forgive me," he stammered, terrified of his lack of restraint and furious with himself for taking her like this. "This was…I cannot…"

"Fenris," she interrupted with enough force in her tone to make the elf finally look at her. She sat propped up on the heels of her hands, her legs pressed together to hide her nudity, and the look on her face was an odd mix of irritation and amusement. "It's fine, Fenris."

"No," he denied with a sharp slice of one hand through the air. "This is far from fine. This is…this…"

"Fenris!" She shouted his name, but the laugh that rippled from her afterward echoed in the cavern. Smiling, she repeated, "It's _okay_. Do you hear me? It's okay."

Fenris searched her face for a long moment, almost _longing_ for some hint of reproach or distaste or loathing, but all he could see was fondness and acceptance. "I…hear you," he managed to force out after a pause. His hands remained balled in fists at his side and his posture obviously contradicted his words, but Hawke accepted them anyway.

"Good," she said lightly, "because I think your belt might be tangled in my smalls."

She held up a knotted mess of cloth and leather and metal, all of which was wrapped around one of her knees. Despite his own warring emotions, Fenris could not help but bark out a sharp laugh at the picture she presented right then, filthy and bloody and disheveled. He moved to her side to offer his help, but kept his eyes firmly off of her body as she adjusted her breast band and tugged at her padding.

"You owe me a new one of these, by the way," she teased, bumping his shoulder with one elbow. "How in the name of Andraste's ass am I going to get back to Kirkwall looking like this?"

A smirked tugged at the corner of Fenris' mouth as he worked his belt free. "Says the woman who took a blade to my armor," he murmured, daring a glance at her grinning face. How easy she made it seem, as though this banter between them was normal, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "At least you don't have to worry about your trousers falling down."

Hawke snorted, then laughed merrily as she dragged one hand through the tousled nest of her hair. She stopped the motion partway and curled her lip in disgust. "Ugh…my hair is soaked in my own blood," she sighed.

"Better than someone else's blood?" Fenris offered dryly, tossing the woman her boot as if came free of the tangled mess.

Sighing a soft chuckle, Hawke glanced around the cavern. "And look," she pointed out, "there's a dead body watching us. Aww, and he's holding your gauntlet for you. Isn't that sweet?"

Fenris twisted back on one heel to look in the direction Hawke nodded. Sure enough, one of the raiders they had killed was turned toward them, his wide, sightless eyes seeming to follow their movements. Resting on one of his mangled arms was the gauntlet Fenris had tossed aside. "Indeed," Fenris intoned, turning his eyes back to Hawke, "most thoughtful of him."

The woman burst out laughing, shaking her head as tears of mirth glittered in her eyes. "I swear, the things that happen in my life," she mused, slipping her foot through her torn smalls that had finally been worked loose, "they're bloody well hard to believe sometimes."

Fenris smiled inwardly, but her words left a bittersweet taste to his mouth. "That won't stop Varric from trying to convince people that it's all true."

"No," Hawke chuckled in agreement.

Silently she helped him sort out the last bits and pieces of their mess. Fenris took her hands to haul her to her feet once she was dressed, but the woman held him a moment even after she was standing. Watching his reaction carefully, Hawke leaned up on her toes and pressed a soft kiss against the corner of Fenris' mouth. The elf let out a breath he had not realized he was holding when she backed away a step.

"Thank you, Fenris," she whispered with a knowing smile before turning her back toward him. "You know, for giving a damn. Isabela's probably frothing at the mouth by now. Let's find the others."

Fenris shook his head at Hawke's retreating form. "As you wish," he answered as he retrieved his gauntlet, convinced once again that he would never understand this woman whose life he now found entangled with his own.


	18. A Springtime Moment

**A/N:** Late Act 3. Silly, almost parody one that took forever because _everyone wanted to talk_! This is too many strong personalities in one place for my brain to handle. If I'd have had the patience for it, this thing could have been thirty pages long. I cannot even express the joy I get from the mental picture I have of the group at the end of this story. Epic. I'm totally blown away by the love you wonderful readers/reviewers/favoriters have shown these little stories. Thank you! I hate to say it, but there will probably only be two more of these before I mark this as complete. This is such a delightful distraction, but other projects are calling me back, and I miss them.

**Description:** Hawke and her circus of followers set out to hunt darkspawn but find flowers instead.

**Warning:** Overload of cuteness. And Hawke's super snark.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

* * *

**A Springtime Moment**

"Ah, Mythal," Merrill sighed happily. "It's such a beautiful day!"

Fenris glanced at the smiling elf walking beside him, her deceptively childlike eyes sweeping across the rich blue sky overhead. A handful of fluffy clouds drifted lazily on the horizon, and the gentle sun warmed the new grass beneath their feet as it rippled under a faint breeze. Never before had they traveled the slopes of Sundermount in the spring, and the lush greens and crisp air and bright, flowering trees made the rocky ridges nigh unrecognizable.

In short, Fenris had been thinking much the same.

"It is," he agreed with a thoughtful nod.

Merrill's eyebrows shot up in surprise, suspicion flickering across her delicate features when she looked at Fenris. "You're agreeing with me?" The corner of her mouth twitched playfully. "Oh my, are you sure the sun hasn't gotten to you?"

Rolling one shoulder in a casually dismissive shrug, Fenris replied, "I would have to be blind not to appreciate the scenery."

The Dalish hummed in agreement, but after a moment of silent walking, she shot Fenris another uncertain glance. "You _are_ talking about the birds and the flowers and the butterflies, aren't you? Because if you're talking about Hawke's bottom again, then, well, we're on two different subjects."

On the other side of Fenris, Varric choked on a laugh and shook his head fondly at Merrill. "Daisy, Daisy," he chided with a good-natured smile, "there's no need to put the poor guy on the spot. If there's an attractive woman within a certain distance of any average man, it's best to just assume he's admiring her assets. No need to ask."

"I can hear you, you know," Hawke called cheerfully over her shoulder from a short distance ahead of them. Isabela leaned in from one side of the Champion to murmur something that had Hawke chuckling under her breath even as Aveline on Hawke's other side snorted and shook her head at the pirate.

"Now, Varric," Sebastian scolded from the rear guard, "that's a rather crude estimation of men in general, isn't it? Not all are so weak willed and filled with impure thoughts that they would leer at every passing woman."

Rolling his eyes, the dwarf drawled, "Of course not, Choir Boy. Only those of us who haven't sold our favorite parts to the Maker."

Fenris shared a smirk with Varric as Sebastian started to argue. A great sneeze from Aveline at the front of their formation echoed off the mountainside, and the Guard-Captain rubbed her forehead and sighed.

"My goodness, Aveline," Merrill fussed in concern, "it's the flowers, isn't it? Your poor nose is all red and puffy! I know an herb that can help, if you'd like. It might upset your stomach a bit, but it's sure to clear your head, at least for a little while."

"I just might take you up on that, Merrill," Aveline answered vaguely, turning a deep frown on Hawke. "I thought you dragged me from my duties to hunt darkspawn, Hawke, not gallivant through the woods."

"We _are_ hunting darkspawn," the Champion insisted with a placating smile. "Just because these ones happen to be prancing through the forest instead of lurking in caves doesn't make them any less worthy of our time. Right? You don't want to be responsible for innocent travelers falling to the Blight, do you?"

Avenline narrowed her eyes at Hawke's mock-innocent questions as Isabela added, "Corff said there was only the one caravan saw anything. And the two men babbling about it were dead drunk."

"What?" the Guard-Captain demanded. "You told me you had proof, Hawke!"

Shooting the smug pirate a filthy look, Hawke grumbled, "Always such a helper, Isabela. Look, Aveline," the Champion made a soothing gesture at the upset redhead, "rumors _are_ proof. Of a sort. We've seen signs of the 'spawn, haven't we? All we have to do is wait for Anders' taint to tingle, and off we go! Right, Anders?"

"Hawke, I have a clinic to run, you know. Full of sick and injured people, " the mage called by way of reply from his place at the rear with Sebastian and Hawke's mabari. "People who need my help, who could be dying at this very moment."

"Be realistic. People die all the time," Isabela dismissed with a wave of her hand. "You can't save them all."

"Yes, that's very comforting," the healer snapped as he tried to shake mud from the hem of his robe. "I'll remember that the next time there's an arrow sticking out of your breast."

"Don't be silly," Hawke quipped with a cheeky grin over her shoulder. "Arrows don't stick in Isabela's breasts – they bounce right off!"

Fenris chuckled along with Varric as Anders muttered, "That's not what I meant," and Sebastian faked a sudden coughing fit. Giggling, Merrill added, "That explains why she doesn't cover them up."

Isabela winked back at the Dalish elf with a grin. "Oh, Kitten, you have—hey!"

Fenris nearly dragged Merrill to the ground as Varric slammed into him with a bellow of surprise. The former slave reached for his weapon, convinced they were under attack, but the blur of fur and slobber that bowled through their company was no enemy.

"You damned fool dog!" Hawke cried as the madly barking mabari cleared the group and disappeared into the trees. The Champion reached down to haul a dusty, swearing Rivaini to her feet. "What in the Void's gotten into him?"

"He must have caught a scent," Sebastian offered, his keen eyes trained in the direction the hound had vanished.

Anders groused, "Or he's after a squirrel again."

"Oh!" Merrill covered her mouth with her fingers, eyes wide and horrified. "He wouldn't eat a poor helpless squirrel, would he?"

"Of course not," Hawke lied. The woman called for the mabari several times, but the only answer she received was a distant bark, then an excited howl and a few yips.

Throwing her hands up in exasperation, Hawke declared, "This, _this_ is why we can't ever get anything done! Between Aveline's dripping face and Sebastian's naughty bits and Anders' distinct lack of tingling and Merrill's _squirrels_, it'll be a miracle if we find our way back to Kirkwall within a tenday!"

"If ever," Fenris added dryly, earning him a devious grin from Hawke.

"Oughtn't we go after the hound?" Sebastian suggested, averting his eyes when Isabela abruptly lifted the back of her shirt to pick a leaf from her skimpy smalls. "Perhaps he's tracking the darkspawn."

Varric snorted. "You haven't been around as long as the rest of us, but even you have to realize that we never get that lucky."

"It's troubling just how true that is," Aveline agreed with a pained shake of her head, followed almost immediately by a watery-eyed sneeze.

"I don't hear him now," Sebastian said worriedly of the hound. All was relatively quiet for a moment, and Fenris realized the Starkhavian prince was correct. "I'm going after him."

"Choir Boy, the dog can look after himself," Varric insisted, then his eyebrows rose in surprise as Hawke trotted after Sebastian. Aveline followed a moment later. "What, we're all frolicking through the bushes now? How about I just stay here while you go commune with nature?"

"If he doesn't have to go, I'm not going either." Anders scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, adding under his breath with a sigh, "These were my best robes."

As he and Merrill hurried to catch up to Hawke, Fenris looked back to see Isabela plant her hands on her hips and turn to Varric. "First round's on me if we head back to the Hanged Man right now."

"Great idea!" Hawke hollered from somewhere hidden amongst the leaves. "Go tell everyone how you abandoned your dear friend the Champion to be eaten by darkspawn in the bowls of Sundermount because you were afraid of a little greenery! Maker willing, maybe I'll find some peace in the grave! Nobody to bloody well ask me for favors!"

Fenris tracked the sound of her voice and soon found himself ducking under branches and through brambles right on Hawke's heels. He was certain the trio on the path had elected not to follow the hound with the rest, but a panicked yelp and a flurry of wild flailing in the brush somewhere to their right sounded distinctly like Anders.

"Anders, what is it? What's wrong?" Hawke cried, all traces of humor gone from her voice and expression as she drew her weapons and trotted toward the disturbance. "Anders!"

The mage tumbled into sight, his hands frantically dragging through his hair as he gasped in little desperate squeaks. "Maker's balls, it's in my hair! That was the biggest bloody spider web _ever created_! AH! I can feel it crawling down my neck!"

Merrill leaned on her staff and tilted her head curiously at the squirming healer. "A giant spider bigger than a house drops on our heads and you don't bat an eye, but you walk through a tiny little web and it scares you to pieces?" The Dalish turned questioning eyes on Fenris. "Is this a shemlen thing?"

"Don't ask me," Fenris scoffed, shaking his head as Anders sent a scathing glare their direction. "I've always said he was a madman."

"Giant spiders can't crawl beneath my robes and bite me in sensitive places and…and _walk_ all over me!" he insisted, giving his clothing a few more good shakes as if simply speaking of it made his skin crawl.

Eyeing him from behind, Isabela droned, "Where's Justice to smite those naughty crawlies when you need him, eh?"

"Ugh," Varric groaned as she shoved past the Rivaini, batting at his chest, "there's pine needles all down my shirt."

Isabela grinned and leaned over the dwarf, purring, "Need an extra hand?"

"Hawke!" Fenris turned with the Champion toward the distant sound of Sebastian's voice. "Over here, Hawke!"

Aveline led the way, Fenris and the Champion following in her footsteps as they loped through the thickening forest, sunlight filtering down to them through the foliage above. Behind them, Anders cursed and Merrill warned Varric not to get lost, to which the dwarf peevishly responded, "Perhaps you should've returned that twine after all."

"Sebastian!" Aveline called as the trees thinned and sunlight flooded over them. The Guard-Captain stumbled to a sudden halt as the prince's laughter carried from somewhere ahead, nearly causing a surprised Hawke to run right into her. Fenris bounded to a stop beside the two staring women, his mouthing falling open in wonderment at the sight that greeted him.

"Well," Isabela breathed, "would you look at that."

They stood at the entrance of a wide ravine in the mountainside, eroded away through the ages by a tiny trickle of water falling down the rocks and wending in a merry brook that disappeared into the woods. The ground was flat and treeless, and the thick grass was literally covered in wildflowers of all colors and sizes, bobbing and dancing on the shifting wind like waves of the sea.

"It's like something out of a fairytale," Merrill cooed. "Oh, Hawke, please tell me we can sit a moment here!"

The Champion opened her mouth to answer, then noticed her mabari gleefully rolling in the mud along the edge of the tiny stream, a grinning Sebastian kneeling nearby. "You bastard dog," the woman scolded with laughter in her voice. The hound stopped his wriggling to offer her a happy bark before returning to his wallowing.

"Apparently the only thing he was tracking was a decent place to get filthy," Sebastian chuckled with a shrug.

"It's nearly midday anyway," Hawke sighed. "Might as well have a meal before we attempt to figure out where we are."

Merrill clapped her hands in delight, and Varric chuckled at her display as he and the others spread out amongst the wildflowers. "Do I sense some frolicking in your near future, Daisy?"

"Are you offering to join me?" the Dalish teased as she dropped her pack and did a little spin.

"Ah, no," the dwarf declined. "I'm not nearly drunk enough for that."

Isabela took a long look around the field and shook her head. "This place is so elfy, even I'm almost tempted to frolic." Seeing Merrill's eyes widen, the pirate stressed, "I said almost. _Almost._"

Fenris joined Aveline near the base of the tiny waterfall to wash the dust from his face and hands. When Hawke approached them a moment later, the woman was grinned to herself.

"Poor Merrill," she explained as she took a turn to wash. "She's – holy Maker that's cold! – ah, she's in love with this place. Made me promise I'd make daisy chains with her before we leave."

The thought was amusing, but Fenris found himself at a loss for words when, as soon as they had each partaken of a few rations and were doing little more than lazing around in the field, Hawke and Merrill actually began to twist the flowers into little ropes. Hawke made herself a crown, then made two smaller crowns which she placed one around each of the tips of Merrill's ears. The Dalish wove a little net and draped it over the top of Aveline's shield so that it hung down in front, bringing a wide, genuine smile to the Guard-Captain's face.

Shaking his head at their antics, Fenris removed his gauntlets and stretched himself out in the soft grass near Varric. The lounging dwarf was making notes and drawing sketches in his thick journal as he watched Merrill and Hawke attempt to convince Isabela to let them braid flowers into her hair. The Rivaini eventually agreed to let them twine flower hoops around her wrists and the ankles of her boots, saying it qualified as jewelry that way.

"Women, eh?" Varric snickered to Fenris with a jerk of his quill toward the playful scene.

"Don't you worry, Ser Dwarf," Hawke assured him as she moved to another spot after clearing all the flowers within reach. "We have plans for you as well."

"I'm telling you right now," Varric wagged his finger sternly at the unimpressed Champion, "you are _not_ putting flowers in my chest hair. There are places I simply won't go. Not even for you, Hawke."

Fenris started to laugh, but caught his breath suddenly when a huge gold and black butterfly circled above his head. On beautiful velvet wings, the creature fluttered a moment before dropping to land on the startled elf's nose. Not daring to blink, Fenris stared in cross-eyed fascination as the insect turned on tiny, tickling feet a few times before catching a breeze and flying away across the tops of the flowers.

"Oh!" Merrill enthused with a bright smile. "The Dalish would call that a good omen, Fenris. What a lovely blessing!"

"Looked like a bug to me," Anders shrugged as he tossed a stone into the brook.

Merrill frowned at him, then her expression turned calculating. "I know what you need, Anders," she nodded with certainty, scooting closer to her fellow mage. "You need flowers in your hair. Lots of them. Yes, definitely."

The healer tried to ward off the elf's advances with vague threats and dark scowls, but eventually he sighed and seemed resigned to his fate. Fenris caught Anders almost smiling as Merrill worked, especially each time she giggled and told him he looked lovely.

"You know, Hawke," the Dalish called as the Champion tried to maneuver a flower collar around her mabari without touching the prancing, muddy beast, "you should stick a few of these blossoms into those spiky bits on Fenris' armor. Might soften him up a little. Oh, maybe he'd even frolic with me!"

"Don't you worry, Merrill," Hawke assured her with a wicked grin at Fenris that made the former slave raise a questioning eyebrow, "I have plans for our dear broody elf."

Fenris was too busy mulling over what exactly that was supposed to mean to pay much attention as Bianca was decorated and Sebastian was given a little cape of flowers to tuck around his shoulders. Hawke, of course, could not resist weaving a tiny crown for the blushing prince's belt buckle to wear, making Anders laugh aloud for the first time in recent memory.

Hawke fetched a long rope she had set aside and stalked toward Fenris with a look on her face that Fenris had not seen in a while. It was an expression – this intense smile crinkling her searching eyes – that meant she was going to push him, to test him, to do something that would make him _react_.

Fenris sat up as Hawke knelt down between his knees. Softly, she lifted one of his hands and slipped a loop at the end of the rope around his wrist, then did the same to his other wrist with the opposite end. Lifting his arms, Fenris found himself bound in a pair of flower manacles.

"Well," Hawke murmured quietly with a coy smirk, "they are daisy _chains_."

Staring at the shackles, the former slave expected to feel…offended. Angry. Hurt. Ashamed. Judging by the sudden tense silence that descended on the little valley, and the discomfort and disbelief written across the faces of their companions, he was not the only one who expected him to feel this way.

But those feelings never surfaced. A part of him was worried, confused by the absence of these emotions that had become so constant in his life that they were almost necessary for him to feel normal. There was nothing funny about what he had suffered, no amusement to be found in his torment, but looking into Hawke's calm, understanding gaze, Fenris realized she was not laughing at him. She was showing him how to laugh at himself, how to _accept_ himself.

Keeping a stern frown, Fenris shook his head and said harshly, "Hawke, this is wrong."

Her only reaction was to tilt her head and arch an eyebrow. Fenris slid the loop off one wrist and grabbed the Champion roughly by the arm, pulling her closer as he lifted her hand. Watching her eyes to gauge her response, the elf slowly eased the circle of flowers around Hawke's wrist instead. Releasing her, Fenris lifted his bound arm to show how the chain now connected the two of them.

"There," he nodded thoughtfully, finally allowing a hint of humor to lift the corner of his mouth. "That seems right."

Varric scoffed and choked on a laugh, opening the way for the others to sigh or giggle or shake their heads as the uneasiness lifted. "Maker's breath, Hawke," the dwarf chortled, "you have one sick sense of humor, woman."

Giving him a smile that showed just how pleased she was with him, Hawke gently rubbed the tip of Fenris' chin with her thumb. "Sometimes," she sighed blissfully as she leaned into him, "you are just so…"

"Hawke!" Anders' alarmed tone of voice was enough to have half of them on their feet instantly. "My taint is tingling!"

Forgoing his gauntlets, Fenris snatched up his sword as Hawke drew her daggers and rose beside him. The Tevinter elf glanced around, struck by the absurdity of the sight of the grim-faced and battle ready group – all bedecked in hundreds of flowers. Even the chain still dangled undamaged between himself and Hawke.

Grinning as the darkspawn breached the trees at the edge of the field, the Champion murmured with a downward glance at the flowers, "Think we can keep it in one piece the whole battle?"

"Not a chance," Varric countered as he picked off one of the lead hurlocks with a bolt to the throat. "Five sovereigns says it's broken before the last 'spawn falls."

Fenris exchanged a glance with Hawke, then nodded to the dwarf. "Challenge accepted," he growled.

ured him that she never would.


	19. One for the Many

**A/N:** Post Act 2. I get a little irked when people try to separate DA2 by black and white choices. "I feel so guilty sending those poor innocent mages to the evil Circle!" or "Rivalry is TERRIBLE, I befriend EVERYONE even if it makes absolutely no sense logically!" and of course "You only play aggressive/direct because you like being a bitch to everyone!" While the last one is definitely true for me, there's some serious lack of gray shades in some players' worlds. So let's poke around with that, shall we? :3 As always and ever, THANK YOU! for the reviews, favorites, and reading along with my craziness. One more after this, and it's going long so it might be a few days yet.

**Description:** Fenris struggles to understand a key decision made by Hawke regarding a mutual friend.

**Warning:** Bickering and emotional...stuff.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

* * *

**One for the Many**

The Amell Estate was cold and silent as he let himself in through the front door. The dwarves had apparently retired for the evening, leaving the place with an odd, empty feeling to it, but Fenris caught a flash of movement from above and noticed Orana peeking over the upstairs railing at him. The waifish young elf gestured silently at the library door, her expressive eyes wide and sad, then she crept away to her room.

Hawke stood motionless in front of the low fire that only barely edged out the chill in the enormous room that housed her impressive collection of tomes and texts. They had spent a significant amount of time together in this room, Fenris and Hawke, pouring over letters and words that once were little more than jumbled scribbles on paper to him. Never before had Fenris noticed what a dark, lonely place this shadowy room could be.

"If you've come to chastise me," Hawke informed him in a soft but toneless voice, her hooded eyes riveted on the tiny flames, "don't waste your breath. Aveline, Varric, Sebastian. Even Anders. They've all had their say. I'm sure there's nothing more you can add that hasn't already been said."

Fenris looked away from the woman and slowly paced the breadth of the room behind her. Only a few hours had passed since the Qunari confiscated nearly every ship in the harbor and set out for Par Vollen with their precious cargo. And the thief responsible.

The elf's thoughts and feelings were in turmoil as he turned Hawke's decision over and over in his mind. A piece of him was furious, and another piece felt almost as though it was _he_ who had been betrayed. When he left the docks to come here, to confront the woman, Fenris had no idea what he wanted to say to her. He wanted to be angry at how calm and detached she seemed, but looking at her now, all he felt was confused. None of this made sense.

Hawke tilted her head to cut a glance his direction before turning back to frown at the fireplace. "If you've only come to wear holes in my rugs, I suggest you leave."

"She was your friend," Fenris said quietly, eyes locked on her back to measure her reaction.

Hawke's hands fisted at her sides, so tight for a moment that her knuckles turned white and her arms trembled, but she forced herself to relax and shook her head almost immediately. "She was your friend, too," she retorted with the faintest edge of heat in her words. "Would _you_ have dueled for her?"

Instead of snapping the first words that came into his mind, Fenris forced himself to consider her question logically before answering. Ironically, he reached the same conclusion both ways. "I'd like to think that I would have, yes," he eventually replied, measuring each word.

"But you don't know for certain," Hawke observed with a derisive snort. "Let me ask you this then. What if you had failed?" She turned in profile to stare at him with cold eyes, shaking her head as she altered her words to do away with the parallel. "What if _I_ had failed?"

The elf stared at the Champion as the implications began to connect within his mind. "Then…" Fenris shook his head slowly and sighed, "then you would be dead. And all else would be the same."

"Would it?" The look Hawke was giving him made Fenris wonder what he was missing. "Would you truly have stood by and watched the Arishok butcher me?"

It was a rhetorical question, Fenris knew this, but the answer flared through the elf's mind and nearly passed through his lips before he caught himself. Even putting aside personal feelings, they had fought side by side in so many battles, for so long that defending the Champion had become instinct for him. He doubted he would have been able to stop himself from reacting, even knowing the consequences.

Hawke continued, "Do you think Anders can control the Vengeance within him enough to respect the terms of such a duel if things went ill in my favor? Varric and Aveline both admitted that they would have stepped in. You know the Qun better than I. What would have happened if you or someone else had interrupted such a duel, Fenris?"

"That person's life would be forfeit," the elf answered as more pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

Crossing her arms over her chest, Hawke pressed, "And?"

"And…the rest of the Qunari would have attacked us all," he admitted as he stopped pacing to lean his hip against the corner of a desk. The logic was cold, emotionless, but sound. "A lot more people would have died."

Nodding, Hawke flatly parroted the words back to him. "A lot more people would have died." Detachment slipped away from her expression and she rubbed at the worry lines between her eyebrows with an unsteady hand. "After all the death she brought to this city, how could I allow more?"

"You still could have fought for her," Fenris said after a pause, unable to fully hide the accusation in his tone. "You would have had our support had you refused the duel."

"No." Hawke spat the denial and slashed the air with one hand, her eyes hard as she stared at the elf. "I could not have insulted the Arishok in that manner, not after all he has seen of this place. Even I can't believe I defend it sometimes. No, I earned his respect, but he also earned mine. He deserved more than a coward's refusal."

Fenris gave a dry snort and drawled, "You'd make a good Qunari."

Hawke's faced softened into a humorless half-smile. "Don't think I haven't considered it." The woman's eyes moved without purpose around the room as she ambled toward Fenris to lift a nearly empty bottle of wine from the desk. He had brought the drink here the last time he visited, nearly a fortnight earlier, and he cringed when Hawke wiped dust from the lip and took a hard drag of the stale wine.

"Why don't you just get to the point, Fenris," Hawke demanded harshly without meeting his eyes. "You don't really need me to explain my reasoning. You just want to know if I'd do the same again. Do the same to _you_."

Anger coiled in his gut at the sudden change in her demeanor, and Fenris pushed off the corner of the desk to pace away from her for a moment. "Do you really believe that's why I came here?" he growled, hating the way she refused to look at him when he stopped an arm's length from her. "Or is that your own guilt talking?"

To his surprise, Hawke chuckled under her breath. "'Both' is probably the most accurate answer." Her admission took the edge off of Fenris' raw emotions, and he felt his shoulders droop when the woman turned determined but sorrowful eyes on him. "You've never held back on me before, Fenris. Don't start now."

"If someone came for one of us…" he started, but when Hawke's expression hardened in anger, he cut himself off and started over with a low growl in his voice. "If _Danarius_ came for _me_, would you do the same as you did for Isabela?"

"I don't know." She breathed the words quietly, as if saying them too loud would bring the choice down upon them, and the pain in her usually guarded eyes startled Fenris. Tortured questions passed through her lips, words not meant for him but for herself. "If he had Kirkwall in the palm of his hand? If he could crush hundreds of lives if you were withheld? If there was no other way?"

She shook her head, blinked twice and the frailty was gone, replaced by the pragmatic and distant woman Fenris had come to know over the years. "I would let him have you if it was necessary."

Fenris tightened his fists as the conflict within him roared. He wanted to feel reassured that she would not choose the needs of the one over the needs of the many, but he wanted to spit in her face at the idea of being _given_ back to Danarius. He wanted to scream that she had no right to decide what was "necessary," but he wanted to reassure her – and himself – that he could not hate her for being honest. When she grabbed the front of his breastplate to pull his eyes level with her own, the lyrium in his flesh flared in testament to his tenuous hold on control.

"_But_," she hissed, eyes snapping with fury of her own, every word sharp and dangerous, "I would hunt him down. Danarius could not hide from me, even if it took years and every last coin I have. I would find him. I would find _you_."

It seemed to strike them both at the same moment, just how close and intimate they were right then, and just how simple it would be to recreate the events of only a few weeks back. Hawke's eyes dropped to Fenris' lips just as his foot inched forward to close the gap the between their bodies. Then, as if he had been the one to seize her, Hawke shoved the elf back and turned away to stalk toward the fireplace.

A tense silence loomed as Hawke stared down at the dying embers, but Fenris would not let that be the end of this discussion. "But you would not do the same for Isabela?"

"No," Hawke answered around something between a grunt and a laugh.

"Why not?" The elf moved to stand behind her, his arms crossed over his chest, but Hawke made no effort to turn and face him.

The woman glanced down at the wine bottle she still held, studying the label in mute contemplation for a while. "Three reasons," she eventually muttered, then brought the bottle to her mouth to drain the last few drops.

"And those would be?" Fenris pressed.

"The first is the most obvious." Hawke tilted her head back to scowl up at the ugly statue over the mantle. "We have no way to follow. What ships the Qunari did not take were destroyed. Even if we could attempt a rescue, Kirkwall is far too vulnerable to leave exposed right now anyway.

"Secondly," Hawke turned her shoulder toward Fenris but did not actually meet his gaze, "have you ever watched Isabela fight?"

"Of course I have," the elf responded.

"No, I mean…" Hawke laughed softly and seemed almost wistful, an expression so strange that Fenris raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "She is one wily woman. I've never seen anyone wiggle out of so many situations. Did you know, Varric and I used to make wagers on how many times Isabela would _almost_ die on any given day? The woman is as unstoppable as the Blight."

Fenris pondered this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "So you're saying she will escape on her own?"

"I'd be disappointed if she didn't," Hawke replied levelly.

"Then what is the third reason?"

Hawke turned back to the fire, wrapping her arms around her middle with the empty wine bottle tucked under her elbow. "I don't care about Isabela the way I care about you," she answered in a measured, neutral voice that betrayed nothing.

Something tightened in Fenris' gut at her words, though the admission was not really all that surprising. "Hawke…" he started, moving a step closer to her.

"Don't," she commanded harshly, shooting a dark glance over her shoulder before focusing on the fireplace once more. "You asked, I answered. There is nothing more to be said."

Though his thoughts told him this was not true, Fenris honored her request and kept silent. Moving up beside her, the elf watched the embers as they winked the last of their heat.

"She'll never forgive me," Hawke said quietly after a time. It was not a plea for reassurance or forgiveness. It was merely a statement, a confession of yet another thing lost, and Fenris could at the very least understand that much.

"She'll survive," he offered, resisting the urge to place a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder. It was a gesture he had never appreciated, and it was one of the things he and Hawke had in common.

Breathing a sigh out slowly through her nose, Hawke closed her eyes for a moment and whispered, "I hope so."


	20. On Distant Shores

**Big ol' pile of appreciation:** I'm so glad I decided to start posting these. I only began writing them out of frustration with a completely unrelated project, but it's amazing and fantastic that my personal venting method has been enjoyed by so many wonderful people. Everyone who has been watching and favoriting and reviewing - I really appreciate you taking the time to give me that feedback. Everyone who is lurking (I'm usually one of those people, so I completely understand) - I hope you enjoyed the stories. Thank you all for reading!

**A/N:** Post game, at least by six months to a year, pro-mage probably makes the most sense. I broke my own standard here and personalized this one with one of my Wardens - Relora Tabris, who's from another of my stories, _Fall Away_. She's not technically _in_ the story, but...well, you'll see. If this feels perhaps too soft or silly at points, all I can say is there are few people who are more deserving of a moment of quiet and levity than Hawke, Fenris, and the other honorable mentions here. It's not a happily ever after, but it'll do. And yes, I love rum. A lot.

**Description:** A stolen moment of peace for many a weary traveler.

**Warning:** Sensuality, booze and Isabela.

**Disclaimer:** I own absolutely nothing at all. BioWare's toys, I'm just abusing them.

* * *

**On Distant Shores**

Peace was a lie.

Fenris had learned this early in life, perhaps long before the lyrium stole his memories away. Peace was an oasis of false hope, ever on the horizon, always just out of reach. It taunted him with cruel promises only to fade like a specter in the shadows when he reached for it. From his enslavement in the Imperium to the madness of all the years he had spent in Kirkwall, Fenris had accepted with no small amount of bitterness that there was nothing more foolish than hoping for peace.

So what then was he to call this soft, comfortable, tempting _thing_ that now hung over them?

It was…calm. It was safety, of a sort. It demanded nothing, inspired trust and honestly, and often left the elf itching for battle – as long as this thing-that-was-not-peace was waiting for him again after the bloody rush of heat and death had been spent. This feeling he had found was as close to perfection and completion as he could imagine existed in all of Thedas, and occasionally it terrified him though it never crossed his mind to attempt to rid himself of it.

Of course, it helped that this _thing_ also included pristine white beaches with sand as soft as silk, a willing and often-nude Hawke at his side, and an incredible beverage he had never before known existed called _rum_.

If this were the closest he would ever come to the lie that was peace, Fenris would take it with a smile, bitterness be damned.

"I hate when she's right," he murmured drowsily into the salty sea air, scooting himself closer to Hawke to follow the shifting shade offered by the lanky palm trees.

The woman sprawled at his side hummed questioningly and rolled from her back to her stomach to peek at him from the cradle of her arms. Sunlight spilled over her loose hair, sending mad shadows dancing across her content features as the soothing wind blew the locks in front of her eyes.

"Isabela," Fenris clarified. He reached out with one finger to trace the dusting of pale sand sticking to Hawke's elbow, watching in mild fascination as the impossibly soft grains peppered the blanket beneath them. "When she told me of this place, I didn't believe her."

Chuckling under her breath, Hawke stretched lazily, offering Fenris a lovely view of her scantily clad body as she arched and flexed with a tantalizing groan. Without consciously realizing he was doing it, his touch left her arm to skim his palm along the smooth arc from the bottom of her breast band down her ribs to the swell of her hip.

"Neither did I," Hawke admitted, leaning into his wandering caress and letting a small, sultry smile grace her lips. "I'm still half convinced we died and this is the Fade."

Fenris dug his fingers possessively into her firm, battle-scarred flesh and let his voice rumble from low in his chest as he tugged her closer. "You sound like you're looking to be persuaded otherwise," he mused, memorizing the longing look on the woman's face.

Hawke slipped her hot thigh between his legs to press against his growing arousal while Fenris traced the outline of one tempting nipple through the thin cloth covering her chest. "Keep doing that," Hawke half-gasped, half-groaned, "and it'll only seem more like a dream."

The elf chuckled and covered her waiting mouth with his, sliding his tongue across the rough surface of her sun-dried lips before delving past her nipping teeth. She moaned her appreciation when he rose over her, pinning her to the blanket, grinding against her sun-heated skin, mindless of the wide open beach stretching as far as the eye could see on either side of them. Hawke had spent the last few days perfecting her ability to make Fenris forget the need to be wary at all times, and though he would never admit it to her, the elf was glad to free himself of the burden in moments like this.

Fenris pulled away, enjoying a glimpse of her lust-dazed expression before he bent to taste the sea flavored skin of her throat. A sudden shadow of movement and sound whistled above them, distorting the pattern of the palm fronds splayed across Hawke's face.

Fenris reacted on reflex, rolling off of her to grasp for the hilt of his sword that was never out of arm's reach. Instead of leaping to his feet, however, the elf ended up flattening himself against the sand with a sharp curse. An muscular bundle of fur and slobber launched itself over the prone lovers, sending waves of sand flying in the wake of its four monstrous paws as it raced away down the opposite end of the beach.

Wiping sand from her mouth, Hawke sputtered a string of unflattering epithets after her enthusiastic hound. Fenris dropped the sword and sat up to shake wayward grains from his hair as the dog came trotting back toward them with a drool-covered piece of driftwood in his grinning jaws. A series of excited barks approached their blanket from the other side, and Fenris turned to watch a second hound with red stripes pained across his face and down his spine come bounding to intercept the first.

"Oh, you're such a spoilsport!" Isabela's voice reached the sandy couple as the two dogs gleefully chased one another into the surf to wrestle for control of their prize. The Rivaini woman swaggered out of a cluster of nearby palms, her scowling pout fixed on the grinning blond elf at her side. "It was just starting to get good, Zevran!"

"My dear Isabela, it was an accident," the assassin soothed, even as Hawke sighed her exasperation and flopped onto her stomach to ignore the intruders. "I would never purposely prevent you from indulging in such," he grinned and winked at Fenris, "_high quality_ voyeurism."

The Tevinter elf snorted and decided Hawke had the right idea as he settled himself back onto the blanket. Though he had developed a deep respect, and perhaps even a poorly hidden fondness for the Antivan, Fenris still had trouble understanding his fellow elf at times. He was convinced that the former Crow was incapable of serious conversation, though he often found himself drawn into his banter nonetheless, especially when Varric was around to encourage it.

"I'm surprised the Warden let you off the ship," Fenris heard himself say to the assassin before he could think better of it, but it earned him a wry chuckle from Hawke.

Smirking, Isabela plopped down at the foot of the blanket between Hawke and Fenris, digging her bare toes into the warm sand with a happy hum. "She's had you locked up in your cabin ever since we rescued her from Antiva City," the pirate captain noted with an arched eyebrow at Zevran. "I was worried you'd wear a hole in my hull at the rate you two were going at it."

Zevran stretched his arms over his head and smiled out over the sea, allowing the wind to pull at his shirt with impish fingers. "My lovely Lora needed reassurance, that is all. We were parted for far too long and had much to make up for. If that requires me to make love to a beautiful and willing woman several times a day, who am I to deny such a thing?"

"When you put it that way…" Fenris shrugged, catching the playful sparkle in Hawke's eyes as she tilted her face to gaze at him. Her hand strayed toward his head to twist a few strands of his hair around her finger and trace the arc of his eyebrow in a simple, loving gesture.

"I don't remember your Warden being quite so territorial the last time we were all together," Isabela observed with blatant disappointment, dispelling the peacefulness of the moment with her irritation. "You know, it's my ship. It's chock full of hot sex and gorgeous people, and I'm not getting _any_ of it! It's just…it's so _unfair_."

Zevran clicked his tongue and grinned fondly at the miserable woman. "Ah, my dear, you worry too much! Soon we will set sail again, yes? At our next port, you will find yourself a willing victim or three before you know it, of this I am certain."

Isabela grumbled something under her breath about that not doing her any good at the moment, but the Antivan assassin's expression had sobered as he turned to look at Hawke and Fenris. "And that, unfortunately, brings us to the reason I followed you down here. Not to watch you put those ridiculously awesome bodies to good use, sadly."

Hawke pulled away from Fenris and propped herself up on her elbows to study Zevran's expression, and it was almost like watching her strap herself into her armor to see the relaxed, playful side of her eclipsed by the leader within. "Your contacts came through?" she asked the assassin with some measure of surprise.

"Indeed they did."

"Then we are no longer safe here," Fenris put forward with a certainty that was mirrored in the other elf's eyes.

Bobbing her head, Isabela confirmed, "No, we are not. We weigh anchor in two days. We'll be long gone by the time anyone worth avoiding can track us. Though, without knowledge of the reefs here, they'd be good as dead anyway."

With an impatient gesture, Hawke demanded of the blond assassin, "The information – was there anything useful?"

Zevran began to pace the sand restlessly as he spoke. "Most was nothing more than traps, and obvious traps at that. Amateurs," he scoffed. "Some carried only bits and pieces of truth. The reports I do trust, though…they are not reassuring, I'm afraid."

Breathing a soft sigh, Hawke rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. "I didn't think they would be."

"The battles are spreading," Zevran continued. "Normally that would work in our favor, but I think they mean to make an example of us. The bounties keep climbing. Our names, our faces, they are everywhere."

"It's flattering, really," Isabela teased half-heartedly with a wink at Hawke that went ignored.

Zevran laughed and shook off his dour mood with a cheerful shrug. "If it makes you feel at all better, the bounty on my Warden still stands as well! Refreshing that assassinating royalty still means something, even in these dark times, yes?"

Hawke snorted, but some of the tension eased across the line of her shoulders as Isabela shook her head at the assassin. "You have gone so soft on that girl," the Rivaini chided with disapproval, though Fenris could not tell if her continued ire was genuine or in jest. Perhaps a bit of both.

Flashing a lascivious grin, Zevran promptly retorted, "That, my dear, is never a danger."

The pirate stood and stretched in an obvious display of her assets. "All I know," she drawled with a pointed look at the Antivan, "is that you used to have standards. Ten years ago, you'd never have defended someone who carried out such a sloppy contract, now would you?"

"Perhaps not," Zevran shrugged with a wry glance at Fenris. "But the heart wants what it wants. Love makes us do strange things, no?"

Fenris answered with a crooked, wan smile even as Hawke laughed aloud. "I'll drink to that!" she declared as she stretched above the blanket to retrieve a half-buried bottle from the base of the palm trees.

"Hey!" Isabela protested, planting both fists firmly on her hips. "So, that's where the last of the rum went!"

"I wouldn't recommend trying to take it from her," Fenris advised with a sidelong glance at the woman sprawled beside him. "She threatened to cut off my fingers if I touched it again."

"That's because you were guzzling it, you drunkard," Hawke replied matter-of-factly. "And, yes it is the last bottle, and no you ca—hey! Isabela!"

The Rivaini woman was quick, darting forward to snatch the bottle from Hawke's hand before the former Champion of Kirkwall could react. Dancing out of reach, Isabela threw her head back and drew a long drag of rum, smacking her lips in satisfaction before she grimaced and made a foul face at Hawke.

"Ugh, you got sand in it!" the pirate complained, but her eyes widened when Hawke growled a threat and scrambled to her feet to lunge for her stolen treasure. With a delighted shriek, Isabela tore off down the beach with the other woman in pursuit, leaving a very startled and amused pair of elves staring after them.

Dropping himself beside Fenris to lounge on the blanket, Zevran shook his head and laughed as the pair of mabari hounds gave up their tug of war to bound after the two women. "Chased across half of Thedas by the most powerful armies in the world," the tattooed assassin murmured wonderingly, "and still I feel I am the luckiest man alive most days. It is madness, no?"

"Then I suppose you can count me mad as well," Fenris chuckled, his shoulders shaking with repressed mirth as Hawke's hound crashed straight into Isabela, sending the Rivaini tumbling into the surf. She came up sputtering and swearing, but Fenris could see she was making a valiant attempt to cover the mouth of the bottle with her hand to protect the rum from the water.

Hawke wasted no time hopping in after Isabela, but when she jerked the bottle from the pirate and turned to make her escape, her feet tangled with the Warden's painted hound. With a cry of distress, Hawke sprawled into the wet sand just as a wave rushed up toward the shore and drenched both the women and the dogs as well.

Zervan and Fenris could not contain their laughter as Hawke and Isabela slung accusations and insincere insults back and forth, kicking water at each other as the hounds ran noisy, haphazard circles around them. Hawke took a mouthful of rum from the bottle, only to spit it out in a wide spray with a disgruntled groan.

"Damn it, it's all full of sea water!" she cried, sending Isabela into a fit of breathless laughter. "Fenris, you have to come punish this evil harridan! She's insulted my honor! And…and the honor of the rum!"

Fenris could only lift an eyebrow and shake his head at her silliness, though he was completely unfazed when Isabela predictably purred, "Oh, will he punish me with his magical fisting?" When Hawke tossed the ruined rum away and doused the pirate in a wave of water, Isabela's grin only grew more wicked. "When I said I wanted to get wet together, Hawke, this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

Hawke was laughing as she crawled from the water and used her mabari to help her clamber to her feet, leaving Isabela to fend for herself. Fenris let his eyes follow the droplets caressing Hawke's battle-hardened form in thin rivulets, his gaze pausing on the now translucent material covering her breasts and the juncture of her thighs. He found himself wondering for a moment if she was perhaps correct about this being the Fade.

"Lucky, indeed," Zervan murmured quietly. Fenris felt a possessive flare of jealousy in reply to the other man's tone, but the assassin's amused gaze was fixed firmly on Fenris' face and not on either woman. "My apologies, il mio amico, for the earlier interruption. Moments like that should not be lost, even to necessity." He laughed suddenly and amended, "_Especially_ to necessity!"

Without waiting for a reply, the Antivan pushed himself to his feet and beckoned to Isabela. "Come, my dusky beauty! Let us give these two some peace while it is still to be found, shall we?"

Isabela pouted as she twisted the moisture from her hair and shook out her bandana. "You just want to go lock yourself up with your Warden again," she accused. "You're going to end up Daddy Zevran if you keep that up."

Fenris glanced up at the blond elf just in time to watch a ripple of sharp pain cross the assassin's face, the kind of quiet torment Fenris understood far too well, but Zevran quickly hid it under a strained smile. "Ah, my dear," he answered gently, "if only it were that easy. Truly, though, I worry what my lovely Lora may do to that dwarf of yours if we do not soon return."

"Varric?" Hawke asked as she flopped herself beside Fenris, purposely flicking her wet hair at him with a challenging smirk. "What, Relora doesn't like him? Impossible. Everyone likes Varric."

"Oh, it is not that," Zevran assured her. "It's only that when I left, they were quite busy playing cards, and cheating the literal pants off of each other in the process. When they catch on…let us just say I do not expect it to end well, yes?"

Isabela accepted Zevran's offered elbow with a resigned sigh and a last longing look at Fenris and Hawke. "One of these days," she promised, "I swear you'll both be too drunk to deny me!"

"At least you have a goal!" Hawke taunted with a friendly laugh.

As the pair disappeared past a cluster of trees, the woman sighed and rolled to curl against Fenris' side. She splayed her fingers across the lean muscles of the elf's stomach, and it was all he could do not to hiss and flinch at how cold she was from the water. Her thigh curled over one of his legs and he traced his fingers over the small of her back as she hummed contentedly. After a long silence, she mumbled, "I wish we could build a house here. Right here."

Tugging his fingers through the sodden mess of her hair, Fenris snorted and smiled down at her. "Nothing happens here. You'd be bored before the month was out."

She pressed a kiss against one of the lyrium lines across his chest and laughed softly against his skin. "Maybe. Probably. Still, to have somewhere to call home, somewhere that won't get destroyed or overrun or turned completely upside down by insane fanatics…well, it'd just be nice is all."

"True," Fenris murmured, and it struck him fully for the first time that this was something he and Hawke had in common, this lack of stability and consistency . "Neither of us seem destined for a settled life." She shook her head and sighed wistfully, prompting Fenris to add with almost painful honesty, "But I wouldn't trade a moment of my time with you for anything, Hawke. You…_you_ are the only place I want to be. That's all that matters."

The woman rose up on one elbow to gaze down at him, her eyes shining brighter than usual as she searched his face. "Well, then," she said with a tremble in her voice as she traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips, "I suppose my home already is right here."

Fenris caught her fingers and brushed his lips against the pulse point of her wrist before tugging her down against him. "I suppose it is," he breathed in agreement before he captured the smiling woman's lips in a long, languid kiss that tasted of passion, hope and something very much like peace.


End file.
